


An Old Wives' Tale

by thegraytigress



Series: The Sexy Misadventures of Agents Romanoff and Rogers [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Romance, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 16:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7539013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex with Steve got her into this situation in the first place.  It makes perfect sense that sex with Steve will get her out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Old Wives' Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Domestic Life of Mr. and Mrs. Rogers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3693587) by [thegraytigress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress). 



> **DISCLAIMER:** _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ and _The Avengers_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** E (for language, strong sexual content)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** You know what's awesome about this story? It's _both_ a _Misadventure_ AND an offshoot of "The Domestic Life". Yep, this story falls in right before [chapter 4, "Namesake"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3693587/chapters/8369149). You do not need to read anything in "The Domestic Life" to follow along in this fic, though. It works in both universes, and it stands by itself, too. It's also inspired by a couple scenes in "Storm Front" that never panned out into the intimacy department. And this is a pile of smutty fluff (or fluffy smut?) and answers numerous requests for pregnancy sex. Warnings for sex (duh), pregnancy sex (duh), and, well, childbirth :-). Enjoy!

Natasha didn’t think she could stand being pregnant one more second.

But the seconds kept coming, and she was.  The seconds kept stubbornly turning into minutes and hours and days.  At the start of the ninth month, she’d about had it.  Things hadn’t been so bad before then.  She’d kept her weight gain down.  She’d kept active.  The miseries of the first trimester, the persistent morning (what a misnomer – it happened _all day_ ) sickness and the fatigue and all of that nastiness, had long abated.  The second trimester had been a complete joy, she’d had to admit.  The whole idea of being pregnant had taken her completely by surprise, and she’d been less than happy (in other words, anxious and prickly and terrified, and that was on top of the normal hormonal moodiness) about the prospect of becoming a mother.  It wasn’t something she’d ever envisioned happening to her, let alone something she wanted.  The Red Room had sterilized her during her training as their assassin.  She’d been a girl with nothing beyond that dark, violent, cruel world, no family and no mother of her own, and they’d annihilated the chance of her ever conceiving a child.  Considering the role sex had played in her life, it had only been sensible and safe.  The KGB couldn’t have had its prized Black Widow getting knocked up via one of the many men she’d slept with before murdering.

The KGB had obviously never envisioned Black Widow falling in love and having sex (so many times.  Like, _God,_ so many times) with Captain America.  The super soldier serum and his super soldier sperm had proved a force to be reckoned with.  Magical healing dick and all that.  Literally.

At any rate, during the second trimester, she’d come to terms with it all.  The miseries had abated, and the shock had dissipated, and Steve had been sweetly comforting and supportive as she’d worked through her issues and untangled the jumbled knot of her emotions.  He hadn’t planned for this, either, but he’d been thrilled from the second they’d found out.  He’d known of her fertility issues and hadn’t cared one bit, having already fallen head over heels for her.  He loved her unerringly and without a doubt, married her much the same way, and stood by her side throughout all this with nothing but gentle patience and devotion.  That had helped her tremendously, though it was hard to be as simply open and excited about it as he was.  It was easy for him, like falling into a role he was naturally born to assume, and she couldn’t fathom herself doing that.  She couldn’t fathom herself being a mother, being that loving and giving and sacrificing for another human being.  Of course she loved Steve, loved him like nothing else and no one else.  And she loved Clint and Tony and the friends and family they’d both inexplicably made since becoming Avengers.  But this was different.  Motherhood was a relationship for which she had no context, a duty she had no experience with completing.  How could she be a mother, love so completely and unreservedly?  How, given who she was and what she did?  _How?_

She’d tried to come to terms with it all as she’d calmed down from the initial shock.  It was hard, and she’d struggled day in and day out.  That had changed the second they’d settled down at the end of the fourth month for another ultrasound.  Since this baby was the first instance of the serum being replicated (naturally, despite all the efforts of men and science over the last seventy-five years since Project: Rebirth), Bruce and Natasha’s teams of obstetricians and neonatologists had been all over her and watching her very carefully, so this had hardly been the first time she’d had a sonogram.

It had been the first time they’d been able to see the baby’s face clearly, though, _and_ learn the sex.  _A boy._   Steve’s eyes had been a little wet – there was no denying that – as he’d laughed and held her hand and fallen in love all over again.  She could see it on his face, in that glimmer of tears, in his broad, happy smile.  And as she’d laid there, stared at the screen where the SHIELD doctor was pointing things and enthusiastically explaining, stared at that little face and realized _that was her son_ and her son already had his father’s nose and mouth and strong jawline…  She’d fallen in love, too.  Just like that.

So that had been when the excitement had really set in.  Of course, she was Black Widow, so it was completely controlled and only revealed to her husband when they’d laid in bed at night with her hand on her belly and her breathlessly telling him the baby was kicking.  Those were little things that at first only she could feel.  It had been like a secret, this bond growing between her and their son.  She started buying things surreptitiously, clothes and stuffed animals and blankets, and they started putting a nursery together in their house.  And they picked a name right away.  _James._   James Steven Rogers.  The James part had come from Steve, of course, and she’d been a little wary at first (just a little – she knew and appreciated just how much Steve loved Bucky, just how much Bucky meant to him).  The Steven part had come from her.  Steve hadn’t wanted it, but she’d been insistent.  He didn’t seem to realize that seeing their son with his nose and lips and chin, that realizing that this tiny being growing inside her was a part of _him_ had made her realize, in turn, that she loved the baby already, that all her fears about being a good mother were completely unfounded because this child was _theirs_ and meant to be _theirs_ …  That was important and something she wanted to honor.

So James Steven Rogers it was, and the second trimester had flown by, full of wonders and sweet private moments between the three of them and mounting enthusiasm.  Their family had gathered around them, _everyone_ joining in on the good cheer.  Gifts were purchased in abundance.  Meals were shared all the time at their house or Stark Tower.  Everyone was involved, and it was so heart-warming and idyllic.  Nothing short of _perfect_.  And that had carried on through the beginning of the third trimester.  Through months seven and eight even, although her fears and insecurities had steadily shifted from the vast unknowns of motherhood to the somehow more horrifying and infinitely more pressing unknowns of labor and delivery.  But that had been okay.  She was Black Widow.  She could handle pain and blood.  Tough as nails, Steve kept saying.  So even the impending threat of giving birth hadn’t soured her much.

No, what had really gotten her upset was the fact that she was _overdue_ by almost a week with no sign of _anything_ happening _._   No indications of labor.  No contractions, not even the fake ones she used to have.  No… _discharge_ (yeah, dignity was very quickly going out the window).  No nothing.  And she was huge.  She’d managed to somehow keep her slender physique during all of this, but not anymore.  She was big and waddling when she walked and everything hurt now.  The back pain had started weeks ago and wasn’t getting any better, no matter how often Steve gave her a massage (and his fingers were as skilled there as they were everywhere else).  Back pain and pressure on her pelvis and the swollen ankles and having to pee constantly and not being able to sleep comfortably (or do anything comfortably).  In short, she’d had it.  She’d been to see Bruce almost every other day this week, and she wasn’t even dilated.  Not one lousy centimeter.  _Nothing_ was happening.  James was head down, right there and seeming ready to go but completely content to just stay where he was.  Apparently he had more than his father’s nose, mouth, and chin.  He had his father’s stubbornness and his father’s complete inability to listen sometimes.  He was happy to stay put.

And Natasha was about as far from happy as possible.  She’d been warned, considering how damaged her reproductive system had been, that her due date was only an estimate, not that that was much consolation.  Furthermore, James was doing beautifully, more than eight pounds on the latest ultrasound, active with a strong heartbeat and no signs of stress.  Amniotic fluid levels were good, and Natasha’s vitals were stellar.  Everything was right on the money, so her doctors had decided to simply let nature take its course.

In no short words, _to hell with that._

Steve was in their office, a nice room with bay windows in the back of their house, working away on some reports for SHIELD.  He’d come home maybe an hour ago, grumpy because Fury was sending him out first thing tomorrow morning to deal with some terrorists in Iran with the newly reformed STRIKE Team.  It should be a fairly simple and short mission.  He’d told Fury weeks ago that he wanted to stay close to home when his wife got close to her due date.  Now she was past it.  Even though _nothing was happening,_ something had to happen here eventually.  Fury had been sympathetic but fairly unwavering.  Steve was Captain America, and Captain America couldn’t take paternity leave.  So after dinner, he’d gone in there to get ready, worried and stressed and brooding and very obviously unhappy about all of this.  He was sitting behind the desk now, working at his laptop with a few tablets and folders strewn about him.  It was summer, so even though it was after nine o’clock, there was still a touch of daylight streaming through the bay windows.  Mostly the room was full of shadows, though, and the light from the computer screens made his eyes very blue and his face almost ethereal.  He was frowning _way_ too hard.

She leaned against the door frame, hands on her swollen stomach.  Even with the air conditioning blasting in the house and the light, floral, cotton sundress she was wearing, she felt sweat beading across her brow and sticking uncomfortably to the small of her back.  James kicked her insistently.  He’d been very active that day, which supposedly was another sign that labor wasn’t soon in coming.  The nurse at SHIELD had told her that at her appointment that afternoon.  _“You just need to listen to your body.  It’ll tell you when it’s time.”_   Well, her body was useless and its signals were silent.

Hence why she was trying to speed things up.  And hence why she was here.  And she was uncomfortable and impatient enough to forego being flirty or cute or seductive or anything.  No, she was on a mission now, and he was a tool she needed to get this mission done.  “You need to have sex with me.”

Steve glanced up from his laptop.  He clearly hadn’t heard her, engrossed in his work and pretty solidly consumed by his thoughts.  “What, Nat?”

She pushed herself off the wall and tried to saunter into the room, but it was too awkward and silly and too much work and she felt pretty chronically unsexy.  She had for weeks.  During the glory of the second trimester, she’d felt so good, looked so beautiful according to Steve.  They’d had sex a ridiculous number of times.  She’d been insatiable.  She always was with him, and those hormones had put her sex drive over the top.  Now…  _Waddling whale._   Still, effort was important!  You couldn’t complete a mission without staunch and unwavering effort.  “I said…”  She came over to his desk and closed his laptop cover to make sure she had his attention.  “You need to fuck me.”

“Whoa,” he murmured, looking up now in shock and fairly rapt attention.  His eyes were wide.  “What–”

Normally she’d climb up on his desk, crawl across it like a cat, pour it on thick.  Normally.  She had to settle for shuffling around it.  And she had to settle for leaning into him instead of settling into his lap when he turned in his chair.  She could still kiss like nobody else though, and she did, pouring hunger into it as she grabbed his hair and rather demandingly pushed his lips open with her tongue and delved inside.  He grunted in surprise, squirming for all of a second before readily melting into it.  They hadn’t kissed much like this of late, hot and open-mouthed and wet.  No, of late it had been about work and worrying and waiting, quick, chaste pecks and snuggling close more for comfort than for sex.  A thrill worked its way up her spine.  She explored his mouth like she’d forgotten it, quick and desperate but determined.

When she finally let him take a breath, she went right to his jaw, attacking there with her lips as her hands pulled at his t-shirt.  “Nat?  Nat, what’re you…”  Pulled at his shirt and went straight for the goods, cupping him right through the khaki of his shorts.  He shivered, and she growled, and simultaneously tried to rip his shirt over his head and get her fingers into his pants.  He still had the presence of mind to snatch her hands and still her.  He was breathing heavily, and so was she.  And he eyed her suspiciously.  “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” she purred, making it as sultry as possible as she lifted his hand and sucked his thumb into her mouth.

That suspicion was warring with desire.  She was going to make sure desire won, so she sucked harder on his thumb, running her tongue along its length and fluttering her eyes shut in a little bit more of a show than she normally would.  “Oh, Lord…” he groaned, and since her other hand was pretty much where he’d left it on his crotch, she felt his interest pique.  That was a good word for it.  _Pique._

“I said, I want you to take me upstairs…”  Back in the day (like nine months ago) that would have been unnecessary.  Back in the day, upstairs would have been too far.  The couch over there would do.  Or against the wall.  Or the desk.  Hell, they could do it in the chair where he was sitting.  That required no movement at all.  But like this?  _Bed._   “…take me to bed and fuck me silly until I can’t walk tomorrow.”

His eyes couldn’t have been wider.  “Uh…”

“Don’t you want to?”  That was a loaded question.  That healthy, _healthy_ sex life they’d had before had rather shriveled and died the last couple months.  It was with good reason.  Natasha didn’t feel terribly attractive, and the pains and discomforts of pregnancy were a deterrent.  Plus the mechanics of it.  And even though Steve kept telling her how beautiful she was, how much she glowed and how gorgeous and stunning and vibrant…  She could tell he was concerned about doing it.  Not that he didn’t find her attractive like this.  He did, and she knew it.  No, he was concerned about the same stuff he’d been concerned about when they’d first started making love.  Losing control of his strength.  Hurting her.  It had taken some doing to convince him that that wouldn’t happen, but with a baby involved in all this?  He’d started in with his concerns all over again.  He’d caved during the second trimester when she’d been downright ravenous for him, but now…  She was a lot bigger.  There was a baby _between_ them.  A big baby.  A baby days from being born.

 _Right.  Stay on target._   She kissed down his hand, nibbling at this sensitive skin of his wrist, and grabbed his growing erection.  “Don’t you want me?”

“Jesus, Nat, you know I do,” he said.  It was easy to see it wasn’t that simple though.  “But you…  Uh, Christ.”  She squeezed harder.  “You haven’t seemed too interested lately?  Which is fine.  It’s fine.”  She stroked him through his pants, and he tipped his head back.  It was always such a turn on for her to watch him fall apart like this, to see his eyes roll back and his neck bared and feel all that strength and power trembling at her fingertips.  He gathered himself a little, though.  He was ever a gentleman, and a gentleman needed to be sure it was okay.  “Why now?”

“Do I need a reason?” she husked, pressing closer.

He groaned, a low, desperate thing.  “No…”  She grinned, getting more invested in teasing him.  In a moment of clarity, though, he reached down and stilled her hand.  “But I know you.  And you don’t go from thinking you’re a cow…”  She winced, embarrassed at how she’d acted a couple days ago after a particularly hormonal afternoon.  “…to this without a reason.”

Okay, that fantastically killed the mood.  She let him go and stepped back, frowning and biting her lip hard.  He stared at her, flushed with swollen lips and mussed hair and a fairly massive hard-on.  God, him and his need to be careful all the time.  “You need to have sex with me,” she said obstinately.

“Yeah, got that.  Why?”

There was no sense in lying or trying to hide her ulterior motive anymore.  “Because it can cause labor.”

His face fractured.  “Huh?”

“It can cause labor!” she repeated hotly.  He still looked totally confused, so she sighed and folded her arms over her breasts.  With her stomach in the way, it looked ridiculous.  “Look, your son – oh, don’t even, Rogers.  When he’s like this, he’s _your_ son.”  Steve looked trapped between wanting to laugh and scowl.  “When I went to the doctor today?  There was nothing.  There’s not a single sign of labor or that labor will be starting any time soon.  I’m not dilated _at all._   Not effaced at all.”

“What’s–”

“ _Your son_ is completely content to stay where he is, and your wife?  She’s had it.  So I want him out.  And I’ve been looking on the internet the past couple of days and there are apparently a whole bunch of ways to ‘encourage’–”  She put that in air quotations.  “–labor.  Walking around.  Exercising.”  She’d tried that for three days, doing yoga and stretching and her normal exercise routine as much as she physically could, working herself until she was sweating and a little out of breath (which took embarrassingly little nowadays).  She’d taken brisk walks through their secluded neighborhood until she’d memorized the houses.  Nothing.  “Red raspberry tea.”  It hadn’t been easy to find that.  Four trips to four different supermarkets.  And, needless to say after about a dozen cups over two days, _nothing._   “Acupuncture.”  She’d even tried that.  Pepper knew someone who got her in right away.  She’d gone earlier that morning before her appointment, and, _shockingly_ , it hadn’t worked.  “Eating spicy foods.”

“I guess that explains the menu of late,” he commented with a half a grin on his face.

She glared at him.  She’d been eating nothing _but_ spicy foods for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Mexican and Indian and putting hot sauce and spicy seasoning on everything to the point where her tongue felt like it had been doused in napalm.  And guess what?  “Shut up.”

He laughed.  “Love, it’s–”

“Castor oil.”

He winced.  “Tell me you didn’t–”  She had.  It sucked.  “Okay.  I take it that didn’t work?”  She glared harder.  He reached for her, clearly trying to stifle his amusement to comfort her.  “C’mere, darling, and–”

Comfort and coddling was not at what she needed from him _at all_.  “No.  _No._   I am tired of being pregnant.  Your son has been causing me problems for nine months, and he needs to come out.  So the only thing left to try besides begging the doctors to induce me is sex.”

Now he frowned.  “Sex causes labor?”

“And nipple stimulation.”  She’d tried that herself to no avail.  Maybe it would work better if he did it.  “But I figure those can go hand in hand.”

He looked adorably flustered.  “How does…”

“Prostaglandins in sperm.”

“Prosta…  What?”

“Prostaglandins.  They’re hormones that can thin and dilate the cervix and cause uterine muscles to contract.”

He seemed flabbergasted at her explanation, and then the corner of his mouth curled in a teasing grin.  “You really did look this up.”  Angry and embarrassed, she turned away.  “No, love, wait.  Come on.  Come back here.”

She sighed shortly.  “Are you going to help me here, Rogers, or not?  I mean, you kind of got me into this mess.”  She gestured to the prominent swell of her stomach.  “It’s only fair you get me out of it.”

“Nat, don’t take this the wrong way but…”  If grimacing were an Olympic sport, he’d win the gold.  “This all sounds like a bunch of hooey.”  Usually she found it cute when he used old expressions like that.  Now she felt her eyelid twitch in absolute fury.  “These things…  They’re old wives’ tales or something.”  He tugged her closer, even though she was as stiff as a board and about as cuddly.  “Come on.  It’s going to be fine.  You’re amazing like this.  So beautiful.”  She blushed in spite of herself.  He always got to her like this, so earnest and loving.  He swept her loose hair from her face.  “He’ll come when he’s ready.  And it won’t be much longer, I promise.  Soon you’ll have him in your arms.”

She pouted.  She didn’t care if that was childish or petulant.  She was tired and achy and so sick of being _huge_.  “When?  When the cows come home?  When hell freezes over?  When you’re overseas and can’t get back here in time?”  That was something of a low blow, to use his worries against him like that.  His expression hardened, and she immediately felt awful.  “Sorry.  I’m sorry.  I just…  I can’t stand being like this anymore.  Yeah, I’m desperate and I’m looking crap up on the internet and trying it.  Okay?  I admit it.  And you’re right.  It probably is a bunch of…”  _Bullshit._   “Hooey.”  She grinned despite herself and he smiled, too, and just like that the little touch of tension between them was gone.  “Old wives’ tales.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

“But what’s the harm in trying?” she whispered, ducking her face close to his.  She kissed him tenderly, sweetly but not without a little insistence.  She was Black Widow.  She loved him beyond what she thought she could ever feel for anyone, more than she thought possible, but she was a master of seduction.  She got what she wanted when it came to sex.  “Hmm?”

He groaned softly.  “Well, when you put it that way…”  The smirk on his lips was more devious than anything else as he grasped what passed for her hips nowadays and pulled her to him.  He stood, and now he towered over her the way he always did.  It was even worse because he had his shoes on and she was barefoot.  And she _felt_ small and vulnerable the way she was, thick and swollen with child (so thick and swollen with child.  That was the point of this.  To induce said child to get moving and labor to get going).

It was like he was reading her mind.  “Does kinda suck the romance out of it, you know, when you treat it like this,” he murmured as he kissed her temple, weaving his fingers through her hair.

She closed her eyes and nuzzled into the touch.  “Not in the mood for seducing you, Rogers.  That went out when stretchy pants came in.”  He chuckled.  “Are we doing this?  Or do I need to ask again?  Would saying please help?  Begging?”  She sighed heavily, bracing her forehead against his chest.  “Please, please, oh please fuck me so we can get this show on the road.”

He laughed harder now, and the next thing she knew, he was sweeping her into his embrace bridal style with a muscular arm around her shoulders and another under her knees.  She knew she weighed nothing to him (even like this), and having him carry her upstairs to their bedroom was really nice, even if it wasn’t something she’d normally let him do.  That loss of dignity thing again, only this time she didn’t care quite so much.  He nudged open their bedroom door.  It was dark with twilight in there, quiet and pleasant though a tad stuffy.  Gently he laid her on their bed.  “Sure about this?” he asked, toeing off his sneakers.

She nodded enthusiastically, propping herself on her elbows and trapping him between her knees a little.  “Definitely.  Stick it in me, soldier.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his shirt over his head.  “Yeah, that’s helping.”  She watched the shadows sweep across him, all the rippling muscles and swells of his chest and abdomen.  For a second she forgot she was on a mission.  She was still mesmerized by him, even after years of being together.  He was strength, courage, beauty, _perfection_ all wrapped up into one body.  One heart.  The fact she felt about as far from that as imaginable was sharp all the sudden, and James stirred inside her.  She ignored him, sitting up more so he could work her sundress up her thighs and hips.  She raised her arms and he tugged the dress off before tossing it to the floor beside their bed.  Then he stared at her breasts in her bra where they were heaving a bit against the bulge of her belly.  They were bigger, had been for the last couple months.  They’d both noticed, though he hadn’t said anything.  She’d caught him ogling more than once before.  He was really ogling now.  “Nipple stimulation, huh.”  She actually blushed.  It was ridiculous, considering she was almost naked in front of him way more than nine months pregnant and all the things they’d done as a couple.  There wasn’t an inch of her body that he didn’t know, and not an inch of his she hadn’t explored.  He smirked again.  “Did you look that up on the internet, too?  I might need a demonstration.”

Now she rolled her eyes.  He could be such a shit.  “Stimulate me.”

“You’re bossy when you’re overdue,” he said lightly, reaching to her breasts.  Through the satin padding of her bra, he ran his thumbs over her nipples.  God, they were sensitive, _so sensitive_ , that even the feeling of the fabric and the light motion of his fingers was like electricity to her spine.  It hurt just a tad, but she didn’t let herself focus on that because it felt really good, too.  _Really good._   His fingers slipped into the cups of her bra, and it was something of a tight squeeze.  Pinching the flesh a bit.  She winced and he did, too.  “Sorry.”

She tried to reach behind her to get the bra unclasped, but that was a pipedream nowadays.  Steve anticipated that, his hands going to undo the hooks.  She couldn’t help but think of the first couple times he’d done this, how inept he’d been, how his hands had trembled and he’d pulled instead of unhooking and ripped her undergarments.  She hadn’t been too upset.  At any rate, now he was experienced, and he had the bra off in a breath.  It felt good to be rid of it; even this new bra she’d bought a couple weeks ago was too tight.

He was _really_ staring now.  His eyes were dark with hunger and passion but more than that.  Awe.  For a moment, she felt self-conscious.  Her stomach was rotund, hard and taut.  Her breasts weren’t as perky as they had been before this, she thought.  He obviously didn’t think so.  He’d seen her naked before over the last couple weeks, though it had been in passing between the shower and getting dressed.  He knew what she looked like.  Of course he did.  But now…  “You’re so beautiful.”

She expected him to say that, and she wanted to deny and argue because her body was completely different and almost alien to her sometimes.  But the words got lost in her throat because she knew he meant it.  He always meant it.  There was nothing but genuine honesty in his voice and complete adoration in his eyes.  His hands were worshipful, tender and light as they trailed down her shoulders and across her collarbones and down over the soft flesh of her breasts.  He dropped to his knees before her almost like he was going down in reverence, and his hands cradled her belly.  _Their son._   He kissed there, low.  His lips were soft and warm as he made his way upward.  She closed her eyes, planting her palms on the mattress behind her and leaning back.  Steve hummed against her stomach, and it was as if James knew he was there.  Heard his voice or felt the vibration of it.  The baby twisted beneath his father’s hands.  They both felt it.

And just like that the mood shifted.  Steve leaned back, face scrunched up in a bit of a frown with the reminder that Natasha wasn’t just pregnant.  James was _right there_ , for all intents and purposes, right between them.  Natasha could see all the uncertainty bubbling to the surface.  “You sure this is safe for him?”

Natasha sighed.  This wasn’t the first time he’d asked.  No, he’d asked almost _every time_ they’d had sex since finding out she was pregnant.  His overprotective nature came to the forefront any time he thought something could be so much as mildly upsetting or uncomfortable for her, so the threat of hurting her or hurting their baby?  That tempered his desire faster than anything else could.  She grabbed his hands and put them on her breasts and hooked her arms around his neck.  She kissed him hard.  “Yes,” she said into his mouth.  “It’s safe.  He’s fine.  He doesn’t know.”  She was anticipating a new facet of this whole thing, that Steve was worried that James could somehow be _aware_ of them having sex.  Earlier in the pregnancy, it hadn’t been such a big deal.  But now _he_ was a big deal, a few days (hours, hopefully!) from coming into this world with his own personality and thoughts and emotions.  A little person inside her.  Whose head was not far from where Steve would be sticking his…  Yeah.

He didn’t look convinced.  Of course.  But he nodded all the same because some part of him probably realized it was irrational.  And it was irrational, but even she had to admit this was a little awkward.  Still, he dove into it.  He pushed her down a bit, his hands cupping her breasts as he kissed her breathless.  His tongue surged between her teeth, and she responding by opening her mouth wider to him.  Her nipples peaked between his fingers, and he went to work doing exactly what she asked him, rolling and pinching and plucking at them.  She gasped into his mouth.  It felt so familiar but incredibly new at the same time.  He dropped his face to her collarbone, licking along the line of it where she was lightly damp with perspiration.  Sighing, she wove her fingers through his hair, clutching it as he drifted lower before finally sealing his lips around her right nipple.

Sharp fireworks went off behind her eyelids, and she whimpered.  And flushed with worry and embarrassment.  Yet another facet of her body right now.  It occurred to her that maybe he shouldn’t, that there was a reason her breasts were fuller and more sensitive, that maybe there could be…  _God, that feels good._   If there _was_ something, he didn’t say anything, didn’t stop, didn’t react at all.  He sucked harder actually, running his tongue around her areola.  His thumb stroked the other side, and when she thought she couldn’t take any more, the sweet pressure and wet heat, he switched to the neglected breast, kissing all over and starting again.  It was too hard to hold herself up and hold his face to her bosom at once, so she simply concentrated on not falling as he tormented and worshipped her.

After a seeming eternity of pleasure, she was squirming and whimpering.  She grasped his jaw, unable to take anymore, to pull him into a kiss.  It was deeper, more desperate, and she let him control it, let him take and explore, let him taste and own.  He finally pulled away for a breath, holding her face.  His eyes were deeply blue.  “Lay back, love.”

It wasn’t the easiest to do that.  On her back, the weight of the baby was hard to handle.  Invariably it got uncomfortable and difficult to breathe, but he realized that and helped her get a few of the pillows from by the headboard and placed them beneath her to ease the strain of it.  Since he was standing, he took the opportunity to divest himself of his shorts, revealing a pretty prominent erection tenting his boxers.  She couldn’t help a rush of excitement and a little dart of fear at seeing it.  There, too, it was hardly like she hadn’t had it before.  The fact that she was this pregnant with her damaged uterus was proof of just how often she’d had it.  However, this was new and wild and just a little daunting for all she wanted it.  _Mission.  Right._   She took a deep breath and reached for him.

He grinned and shook his head, going back around to the foot of the bed and kneeling on it.  He scooched between her legs, which she parted for him.  Once more the changes in her body seemed a huge unknown, but that didn’t faze him nearly so much as the idea of having sex with her this pregnant and their son literally in the way.  He stared at her stomach a moment, long enough that the passion started to fizzle in the air again.  She’d read online (she couldn’t believe the amount of internet research she’d done on this) that sex at this stage of pregnancy could be uncomfortable, physically and emotionally, and not just for her.  She was determined not to let that happen.  “Steve?”

“Yeah?” he murmured, grasping her knees as she parted her legs wider and more definitively.

She stared into his eyes.  “I want you.”

He gathered himself with a deep breath.  “What do you want me to do?”

 _Love me.  Make love to me._ She couldn’t manage that, though, with her throat tied up with anxiety.  “Fill me up with your prostaglandins,” she blurted instead.  _Super soldier prostaglandins._   If that didn’t get things going, she didn’t know what would.  “Fuck me into labor.”

“You’re gross,” he commented, but the levity was appreciated.  He gave a dopey grin, grasping each of her knees.  “So gross.”

“Bet you it’ll work.”

He cocked an eyebrow.  “Think so?”

“Old wives’ tales have some truth to them.”  He nodded, but he still hesitated.  Sometimes she forgot over the last nine months that this wasn’t just a huge change and adjustment for her.  It was one for him, too.  He hadn’t anticipated this any more than she had.  He’d been such a rock through it all, unfaltering even when she’d been at her most emotional, most difficult, most insecure.  And she knew she’d been a pain sometimes, but he’d weathered it all, her mood swings and hormones and uncontrollable feelings, without a complaint.  So she didn’t want to bully him into this at all.  If he wasn’t comfortable…  “What do you want?”

He let loose a long breath and settled between her legs.  “I want you to know it’ll be fine no matter when and how it happens,” he said, smile soft and eyes almost tired.  She smiled back.  “And I want you to feel good.”  He glanced between her legs.  “Really good.  Can I…”

Well, at least he was on board.  “God, yes,” she whimpered, trembling at the thought.  He set his mouth to her knee, sliding his big hand up her calf, cupping the meat of it there in his palm before coming down her thigh.  His mouth followed, leaving a wet trail of kisses.  He spread her legs wider, and she squirmed, not exactly nervous but not comfortable either.  She hadn’t quite envisioned what _different_ and _awkward_ meant when she’d read about this.  They weren’t bad, per se, but her nerves were sizzling with how novel this all felt.  Alien but familiar.  The same but not.  It was contradictory and maddening and wonderful and terrifying all at once.

He was slow to move to the junction of her thighs, taking his time with suckling kisses, maybe trying to figure this out himself.  She made herself relax, her heart pounding in anticipation even though she managed to unfurl her fingers from the blankets beneath her.  The room was so silent, so still, so warm as she waited in tense delirium.  It felt like forever, though in reality it wasn’t long at all, before he kissed her through her panties.  Natasha jerked and whined.  She was skittish and nervous in a way she couldn’t ever recall experiencing.  He took it slow, kissing again, harder this time.  The cotton of her underwear pressed into the bundle of nerves right there, and it was too much, so delicious and sensitive that she cried out.  He gentled his kiss, pulling her underwear aside to tenderly press his lips there.  “Oh, God, Steve,” she moaned.  It felt like _forever_ since he’d done this to her, even if it had only been a couple months.  “Steve…”

He worked her underwear off before spreading her legs again.  She caught his eyes only a moment, saw the desire and deviousness in them and let that console her, before his head dipped down and she couldn’t see him anymore over the swell of her stomach.  She felt him, though.  God, did she ever.  His fingers gently pulled her folds apart to make way for his tongue, and he licked a long stripe upward.  She keened, lost immediately in pleasure.  It was hot, tight in her core, twisting and turning and blinding her with need.  He licked again and again, and then his tongue pushed inside her enough that she saw white.  His finger followed when his mouth pulled away, tender and slow as it worked its way in.  She had to admit it felt odd and not quite the same as it usually did.  _Everything_ seemed flush with blood, hot, fuller and more swollen, and the pressure of his finger inside her was indescribable.  Again, it hurt just a little at first.  Perhaps not quite _hurt_ , but it felt big and blunt and strange, and her interior muscles were thick and taut against it.  She could feel that, and when he pulled out and pushed back in, it sent her mind jittering and sparks blasted across her eyes.  “God,” she whined, arching her back as much as she could.  “God, God, _Steve…_ ”

Trusting himself more and realizing that he wasn’t hurting her, he thrust his finger in and out of her faster and harder, deeper, and a second joined the first.  He crooked them, knowing her body so well, knowing exactly what she wanted and needed, pointedly brushing that sweet place inside her with every movement.  Pleasure coiled and burned.  She wasn’t going to make it long, not with how amazing this felt.  It was skirting the border of being too much, of raw nerves screaming in oversensitivity.  She grabbed at his hair, desperate for something to hold, as he touched her faster and deeper still.  A suckling kiss between her folds right where she was most sensitive was all it took to tip her over the edge, and she climaxed with a wrangled moan, every muscle in her body contracting.  She couldn’t breathe or think or move or speak.  She couldn’t do anything but ride the overwhelming waves of it.

When she came back to herself, panting and whimpering with her heart booming in her ears, she realized he was pulling away, leaning up and over her to kiss her.  She could feel how wet she was between her legs, taste herself on his lips, and that was more intoxicating than it should have been.  “Oh, Steve,” she whispered into his mouth.  “Steve…”

He didn’t answer, kissing her deeper, twining her tongue with his as he fumbled a second.  He was getting his boxers off because a second later she felt his erection, long and hot and thick, trailing wetness on her thigh.  He leaned back, getting onto his knees more and grasping hers to steady them both.  He didn’t ask if she was sure or ready because he knew she was.  And she was.  She was so ready.  He guided himself into her slowly, one hot, hard inch at a time.

Again, it felt… _different._   Not bad, but tense muscles were a tad unwilling all over again to unfold for him.  When they did, they were clenching tighter around him almost instantly.  He groaned, eyes squeezed shut, panting with his head tipped back.  It had been a couple months for him too, and he was shaking with the effort of going so agonizingly slow, of holding himself together.  She could feel herself trembling, but it was almost like she wasn’t in her own body, that she was detached and watching.  At the same time, it was so vivid, so powerful and consuming and perfect.  And he was keeping his weight off her completely, upright on his knees, so she had nothing to grasp other than the blankets.  She couldn’t anchor herself with grabbing him and holding tight.  So in a way, as he started to move, she felt like she was falling.

But she wasn’t really.  And she’d forgotten how good this was, how perfectly he fit inside her, even like this.  How deep she could feel him.  His hands slid down her legs, molding around her bottom and lifting her to meet his thrusts.  His confidence was coming back fast and sure, and he sped up, tilting her hips more in search anew of that place inside her.  He found it, shallowing his thrusts a bit to go faster.  Pleasure shot up her spine, delicious and consuming.  She could nothing but breathe and moan and _experience_ it.  That weightless feeling was intensifying, building into a twinge of vulnerability.  She wanted to kiss him, but she couldn’t reach him, and she didn’t want that, so she sobbed a little before she could stop herself and clambered to grab at him.

He stopped instantly, his face white and his eyes wide.  “Oh, God, Nat.  Nat, did I hurt you?”

She gasped.  “No.  No!”  She twisted her hips miserably, trying to get him going again.  The heat of him inside her, so long and full, was too much to bear.  “Steve, I–”

“What?” he gasped.  He was really worried he’d done something wrong.  He leaned over her.  “What?”

Throwing her arms up, she wrapped them around his shoulders and dragged him down.  “I just… I want…  I need…”

He seemed to think she wanted more control, and her mind was so muddled right then she wasn’t sure she didn’t.  So he pulled out of her as she sat up a little, turning with a grimace to her side as her back ached a little in protest and sore emptiness between her legs throbbed.  He kissed her before laying down beside her on his back.  His erection had flagged a bit through all that, and he fisted himself to get it hard again.  Hissing through his teeth, he shuddered slightly, and she watched a moment with lidded eyes.  It didn’t take much for him to be ready again, and he patted his lap.  Laughing, she climbed over less than gracefully.  It still felt so good, though, setting her knees astride his narrow hips and sinking down on him.

So they tried this way.  He put his hands on her belly after a second, settling into it.  She rolled her hips as much as she could, trying to find a rhythm and leaning forward a bit to curl her nails into the meat of his pecs.  This was nice, and having control _was_ satisfying.  She’d had that over nothing lately, not when she needed to eat or use the bathroom or sleep and definitely not when the baby was coming, so it was more than a little gratifying to be in charge of this.  She could take him as deeply as she wanted, and she had to admit it felt better on the shallower side.  He seemed to realize that, so he didn’t thrust up quite as hard (or at all, really) as he normally did she was on top riding him.  He was content to let her use him however she wanted.  It was fine.  Good.  Great.

But it had its drawbacks, namely, _the same_ drawback.  She couldn’t reach his face.  And in terms of forgetting that James was between them?  Pretty impossible with her stomach right in both their lines of sight as they tried to look in each other’s eyes.  Plus, this was somewhat tiring since she was doing all the work, and it hurt her back a little.  Pathetic, but true.  Thus after a few minutes of pleasure, it was slowing and fading, and she groaned in frustration.  “I want…”

He leaned up, curling around the bulge of her stomach to kiss her fiercely, and moved them without words.  In the past, Steve manhandled her like no one’s business.  He’d come into their relationship a virgin, but once he gained some confidence, poise, and experience in the bedroom, he’d gotten ridiculously good at being possessive.  He’d pin her against walls, pin her against furniture, in their bed, _wherever_ they were, and she had long confessed to herself that the brief feeling of (fake) helplessness against his bigger size and enhanced, unbreakable strength was unbelievably arousing.  When he got just a little rough with her, not ever enough to hurt but more than enough to indicate how much he was losing himself in their love making…  Yeah, amazing didn’t begin to describe that.

Now he was careful, lifting her off him and gently rolling them both so that she was on her hands and knees.  He snatched the pillow from before, pushing it underneath her abdomen for support, and Natasha whimpered, trying to hold herself up while spreading her legs more to him.  He kissed her there, spent a moment or two sweetly teasing and tormenting with his lips and fingers to stoke her desires anew, and she whined wantonly when he finally grasped her hips to pull her back while he slid in again.

Okay, this was good.  All she had to do was meet his thrusts a little (and even then she didn’t _really_ have to do that).  The pillow was helping a lot, and she hung her head between her shoulders and panted in time with his movements, with the slick push and pull of him inside her.  She usually didn’t care for this position; she always felt there was something a little dirty and demeaning, and the assassin and seductress in her didn’t like it because she always felt exposed and vulnerable and at a disadvantage since she couldn’t see.  Still, it was so good, too, particularly with his huge hands massaging up and down the tender, tired muscles of her back.  It was like he was giving her a back rub while fucking her, which was… weird but very nice.  He pressed his thumbs right into the knots of her lower back where the pain was always the worst and rubbed there while he leisurely rocked in and out of her.  This was good.  She could melt with this.

At least in the beginning.  Then the same issues came crawling back.  Her knees and hands were sore bearing her weight and James’ weight.  It was like she had no stamina anymore, her powerful, lithe body that had weathered incredible strain and injury in the past reduced to this lump that couldn’t stand even the slightest discomfort.  And now she couldn’t even _see_ him, let alone touch him, let alone kiss him.  That feeling of falling wouldn’t go away.  She pressed her face into the pillow and choked on a little frustrated sob again.

“Nat,” he whispered, stilling instantly.  He pulled out and came around to where she was kneeling now, her arms around her stomach.  He looked horrified again.  “What’s wrong, love?  Does it hurt?”

Not exactly.  She was ashamed to admit it, but this…  It wasn’t good enough.  _None_ of it was good enough.  She needed _more_ , but she didn’t know how to say it.  She needed more contact, more of his skin against hers, of his strength around her.  She needed him _closer._ Through all of it, he was always too damn far away, too careful not to crush her or push her.  She’d never been this _removed_ from him during sex _,_ and it almost physically hurt.  “Steve…  Can you…”

He didn’t understand, but at least the horror and self-reproach was gone from his gaze.  “What?”

Then it occurred to her.  Thank God for internet research.  “Behind me,” she whimpered.  Thankfully he caught onto the idea right away, and soon she was laying back down on her left side, the comfortable side, and he was lying beside her, spooning her.  She craned her neck around to kiss him, and it was deep and wet, all tongue and teeth and labored panting.  He lifted her leg to part them a little, bracing the weight of it on his forearm as he situated himself better.  This position wasn’t one they ever really did.  She always found it somewhat awkward, but right now?

She knew the second he slid back into her that it was _exactly_ what she needed.

“Steve,” she whimpered, tangling her fingers into his hair to keep his face where it was.  She kissed him again, open mouthed and needy.  “Steve…”

“What?”  He slipped his other arm beneath her to wrap around her middle.  “Is this okay?”

 _God._   They were so close, and he was all around her.  Inside her.  “Move,” she ordered.

He did.  He was gentle, trying this out with concern telegraphed by every short, slow roll of his hips.  She tugged his hair lightly, and that was enough to get him going.  This was _really_ good.  Finally.  _Finally_ something that worked just the way she wanted and needed.  He was deep but not too deep.  Nothing hurt.  James wasn’t in the way.  She could cling to him (had no choice really) and feel it and enjoy.  Every nerve inside her buzzed, vibrated with the movement of his length as he stroked and caressed the thicker, swollen muscles.  Her orgasm was building now, sweet but fiery, and she ground back against him to get him going faster, closing her eyes and losing herself in the mounting waves of bliss.

Apparently she was too lost to realize he was really close.  He grunted through gritted teeth in her ear, coming with a rougher snap of his hips, and she felt him pulse inside her.  That fairly well jerked her out of her lovely haze, and she whined miserably.  “Sorry,” he moaned right away, still trembling with the aftershocks of it.  “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

She supposed it wasn’t fair to be this disappointed, but she was.  Before now, they’d been so in sync with each other.  They knew each other’s bodies so well that climaxing together (or at least at the right times) was a given, something she apparently had been taking for granted.  She’d gotten hers once through this already, and her body wasn’t responding the way it normally did, and usually she could get off on him fucking her no matter _what_ position they were in…

Damn, this was frustrating.

She convinced herself the stinging in her eyes was just sweat.  He brushed her hair away, leaning up to kiss her cheek.  “Hold on,” he breathed, lips damp against her skin.  He was pulling out, rutting a bit against her back, and he let her leg go down so he could stroke himself.  She supposed that was something.  She was married to Captain America, and thanks to the serum, Captain America had little to no refractory period.  It was a blessing and a curse sometimes (well, usually way more of a blessing), just how fast he could get it up again.  And she was married to Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers would do whatever it took to see her happy.  He was a generous, sweet, and attentive lover, and he always put her pleasure first, no matter what.  He never left her wanting for anything.  Like this.  He got so oversensitive after climaxing, but she could tell he was forcing himself through it.  That was who he was.  He’d endure anything and everything for her.

And he’d make light of this just so she’d feel better.  “Gotta reload the prostaglandins.”  She barked out a laugh, wiping her eyes to hide her shameful tears.  “You read about this one on the internet?”

She was out of it enough not to follow.  “This what?”

“Us doing it like this.”

“Yeah.”  She could tell by his breathing slowing and evening out that he was getting somewhere.  She felt the tip of him against the small of her back, his knuckles bumping up there once or twice as he finished getting himself ready again.

Then he was lifting her leg more, wider even than before, and sliding back in without warning.  “I like it like this,” he whispered, winded and wet against the nape of her neck.  “Better than before.  God, Nat…”

They didn’t talk much after that.  He immediately started in all over again, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh as he thrust into her from behind.  She sank down into the sensations.  It was so hot, their bedroom turning into a sauna, breaths fast and damp, skin sticky and slicked with sweat.  He grinded against her, pulling her back to meet him with every thrust, and she closed her eyes and let him take care of her.  Her orgasm was stubborn at first, as if him coming before and breaking the rhythm of it all had dashed it completely, but it was rebuilding.  Slowly.  Damn her body.  She whimpered in frustration.

Instantly he compensated, angling himself a bit more to brush against that spot inside her.  The hand around the swell of her stomach moved upward to cup her breast, thumb rubbing her nipple.  His nail was a little ragged, and it scraped a little, and _Christ_ that felt good.  It felt even better when he pinched and squeezed.  Still, even though his efforts were sending jolts of pleasure right to her core, it wasn’t enough.

Then he put the weight of her leg back on his arm so he could free his other hand, and those fingers went right to where they were joined.  They slipped in the slick folds of her sex and found their way to the top, and she cried out as they touched where she needed them.  It wasn’t much because he knew everything was so sensitive, just the light but steady pressure of his thumb and an occasional caress.  His hips pushed hers into his touch, and she cried out.  She panted into his mouth, whining on every thrust.  There was nothing beside this, the discomforts of pregnancy far away, the fear and anticipation and excitement of waiting.  There were only his fingers on her breast and his hand between her legs and him up inside her.

And maybe it had seemed impossible and elusive a few minutes before, but he took her right to her release and pushed her into it.  She keened a cry that should have been embarrassing had her brain still functioned, stiffening in overwhelming pleasure and clenching down hard around him.  That yanked him over with her, and he jerked with a soft whine, his rhythm stuttering and then breaking and finally stopping completely while he burrowed into her back.  She was shaking.  So was he.

It was quiet for a bit, heartbeats slowing, breaths growing longer and calmer.  She melted into his arms, his hand reaching across her breasts to grasp her opposite shoulder and hold her tight.  His other hand left her sex to settle on her stomach, and his lips drifted lazily along her back, between her shoulder blades and up her neck.  She drifted in that, in the feather-light kisses and his arms and his manhood softening inside her and _him_ as close as he could be.  It felt good.  _So good._

Eventually the feeling of cooling sweat and their combined releases between her legs started to get uncomfortable.  He pulled out, and she winced at the ache.  Turning her on her back a moment, he loomed over her.  “You okay?”

She smiled and nodded firmly.  She was, of course.  It was different, _all of it_ had been different, but it was different in a good way.  A special way that would only exist for this time, for these moments, because this baby was _coming_.

Right.  That was the point.  And he leaned down to kiss her firmly, sated and sweet.  When he leaned back, he smirked and glanced at her belly.  “Mission accomplished?”

She had to admit she didn’t know.  Her senses were still pretty muzzy, and if she never had to move again, it’d be too soon.  “Not sure,” she said.

“Hmm.”  He kissed her stomach and pushed himself up off the bed with his normal grace and alacrity.  Then he was walking to the bathroom.  Natasha heard water running in the sink, and she grimaced as she rolled back onto her left side because it was getting hard to breathe on her back again.  Inside, all sorts of things ached tenderly, a twinge here and a pull there, but nothing that felt much like a labor contraction.  Not that she knew what a labor contraction should feel like.  She wasn’t even certain what a menstrual cramp felt like, though she’d read they were similar to that just way more intense.  She held her breath and waited, hoping all these little sensations would snowball into something else.

They didn’t.  Steve came back with a damp washcloth.  He sat beside her and prodded at her legs until she spread them again.  He dutifully wiped away the wetness between her thighs, and everything felt even more sensitive than before so even the soft brush of the cloth was uncomfortable.  He mistook her wince for something else.  “Is it working?”

Natasha sighed and clenched her thighs closed in indignation.  “No.”

“Maybe it just takes time,” he offered, grinning facetiously.  He went back to the bathroom to get rid of the cloth.  On his way back, he stopped at the dresser and found himself a pair of clean boxers and some sleep pants.  “You know, for my stuff to stimulate your stuff.”

She grumped.  “My stuff is plenty stimulated.”

He grinned, but she could see he was just a little relieved that nothing was happening.  It was a strange thing, waiting like they were in this limbo of her being overdue.  They were excited to become parents yet so terrified of it that a delay seemed alright (even she had to confess she felt this way, despite being so adamant about getting things going).  And she supposed it was vulgar and maybe stupid to think that the results of their love-making would be immediate, that he’d _bang_ the baby out of her or whatever.  And it would be mighty embarrassing if labor _did_ start now, with evidence of what they’d been doing pretty much all over them both.  How the heck would she explain that to her doctors?  So maybe…  Maybe it was for the best.

It didn’t feel that way, though.  Steve had disappeared for a second while she’d laid there and listened to her body, and he came back with a couple bottles of water.  The second she spotted him, her eyes welled in silly disappointment.  His face fractured.  “Hey, love, don’t cry,” he said, and that only made her cry harder.  “It’s alright.”

“It’s not fair, is what it is,” she whimpered.  He rummaged in her drawers and found a pair of her panties and a cotton nightgown before coming to the bed.  Quickly he worked the underwear up her legs, tugging it into place (which was hard with her leaden, too leaden to even lift her butt).  Then the nightgown came on, and he slipped it over her head and arms.  He gathered her up his embrace again, bridal style like before, and pulled their duvet and sheets free.  Setting her back down, he finished getting the room ready for the night, turning off the lights and what not, before climbing in beside her.  He undid the top of the water bottle and handed it to her, and she downed almost the whole thing even though that meant she’d have to use the bathroom in short order.  With the pressure James was putting on her bladder nowadays, it was a minor miracle she wasn’t taking up permanent residence in there.

When she was done, Steve pulled her close, spooning up behind her just as he had before.  She set the empty bottle on the nightstand before cuddling up to him.  He didn’t say anything about her tears, didn’t make a big deal about it.  He just squeezed his arm lightly around her belly, splaying his hand flat there and sweeping gently like he was looking for James’ little movements.  “He’s quiet,” she said, and that was unusual for him.  She knew she should be taking advantage of that and resting without disruption, since James was very much his father’s son and continually on the go inside her, but she wasn’t ready to give up on their efforts to induce labor just yet and call it a failure.

Steve wasn’t either, grunting into the back of her neck.  “Anything starting?”

Sadly she shook her head.  “No.”

He grunted again, his palm moving in a comforting sweep over the hard ball of her belly.  They were silent just a moment, long enough that she wondered if he’d fallen asleep.  He hadn’t, though.  “Maybe all of it really is a bunch of nonsense,” he offered.  _Old wives’ tales._   Eating spicy food and exercising and taking castor oil and drinking special teas and nipple stimulation.  And sex.  She supposed if women could really control when labor started, the last month of pregnancy wouldn’t be such a waiting game.  “Maybe.”

“Probably,” she conceded.

“Don’t worry.  He’ll come when he’s ready.”  _Like never._ She could already tell cooperation was not his strong suit.  “It’s gotta be soon, you know.  How many days overdue?” he asked like he didn’t know.

“Five.”

“Then soon.”

Of course, that brought their other concerns out in the quiet that followed.  Natasha tried not to think about the obvious, but it was difficult to ignore it.  Sighing, she turned over to her other side, wincing all the way (the ache in her pelvis was getting worse), so she could look in his eyes.  Their noses nearly brushed as she grasped his face gently, dragging her thumb lightly over his lower lip.  “I don’t want you to go tomorrow,” she whispered.  Truth be told, all of this hadn’t just been because she wanted the pregnancy over.  If she could start labor right now, tonight…  He wouldn’t have to leave in the morning.

He’d obviously been thinking the same thing, and he sighed, deflating as though punched and sinking into the mattress in submission.  “I know.  I don’t want to go.”  There was nothing but worry in his eyes, deep and sincere, and she knew just how much he meant that.  “I tried so hard to argue my way out of it, Nat.  I swear I did.”

“I know you did,” she murmured.

“Fury was adamant.  I practically begged when arguing didn’t work, and that was useless.”  He huffed unhappily.  “He kept going on about my duties to SHIELD and the Avengers and how Captain America couldn’t just take off.  I was tempted to tell him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

She smiled a little at the image of him doing that.  “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m afraid he’s right,” he admitted softly.  “And I don’t want him to be.”

That was sobering.  He’d been such a steady port in the storm for her that she couldn’t help the way her heart ached for him, faced with this tough situation.  She would face it, too.  They were SHIELD agents and Avengers.  They couldn’t quit, and they lived dangerous lives, and all of that wouldn’t go away just because they had a baby.

But she couldn’t deal with thinking about that right now.  And Steve was moving on anyway.  “But I’ll be gone thirty-six hours top.  Should be an in and out.  A few hours to fly out there.  A few back.  And the op.  He’ll stay in, won’t he?”

“Has so far.”

“So maybe it’s a good thing making love doesn’t work as a labor starter-upper.”  She giggled.  He grinned.  “I needed it, though.  Making love.  Needed it so bad.”

“Me, too,” she murmured.

He kissed her softly.  “Love you, Nat.”

She smiled, nothing but grateful even if her mission hadn’t quite succeeded.  “Love you, too.”  Still, even after he drifted to sleep, cuddling her tight against him with his arms like iron around her and his legs tangled with hers, she stayed awake for quite a while, listening for her body’s supposed signals, waiting for a contraction to come.

There was not a one.

She sighed and rolled her eyes.  _What a bunch of hooey._

* * *

Steve was gone by the time Natasha woke up the next morning.  His side of the bed was cold as she threw her arm into it to search for him.  The bright June daylight streamed in their bedroom, and she could see the sheets were rumpled and empty and she was alone.  Vague memories coalesced in her disgruntled mind, memories of him tenderly kissing her awake before dawn, of him leaning over her, dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt with his shield on his back, of him asking her if there was any sign of labor.  She’d been grouchy, pushing him away and grumbling, “What do you think?”  So he’d laughed, told he’d be back as fast as he could, kissed her goodbye.  She’d gone back to sleep.

Now she was awakened by the same thing that awakened her most mornings these days: James beating on her bladder.  Throwing the covers off, she levered herself up with some difficulty and bolted to the bathroom.  Thank God she made it.  And when she saw there was a little blood between her legs, she winced.  Maybe Steve had been right to be concerned about being rough.  She’d read online that sex, particularly near the end of pregnancy, could cause some light bleeding and spotting that was nothing to be concerned about.  It wasn’t all that much.  Still, she felt a little crampy, a little sore, and she opted for a shower to soothe it all.

After that, she felt better.  She dried off, got dressed in today’s black cotton sundress (she refused to consider it a MooMoo – it had at least _a little_ bit of shape to it, for crying out loud), brushed her teeth, braided her hair as best she could considering she couldn’t reach behind her too well, and headed downstairs.

The house always seemed so big when Steve wasn’t home.  In the last couple weeks as working had become pretty much impossible (and Bruce wanted her taking it easy, anyway), she’d been alone at lot while Steve had been gone to the Triskelion or Stark Tower.  Quiet never used to bother her at all, but it did now.  She sighed, waddling her way ( _God, I’m a penguin_ ) to the nursery.  Pushing open the door, she took a look around again.  She’d been doing this about every day the last couple weeks, and it was always out of sheer amazement and excitement.  The nursery was light blue, filled with cars.  Baby car decals on the walls and car bedding in the dark, mahogany brown crib and a big car rug and cars everywhere.  It was bright and sweet and colorful.  Steve and Clint had put the room together, painting and decorating at Pepper’s direction.  Natasha walked inside, the brand new carpet springy under her bare feet, and headed to the dresser.  It was overloaded with clothes, courtesy of Pepper and Laura.  And there were toys and things everywhere.  Little James Rogers already had a slew of aunts and uncles spoiling him to death, but she supposed that was to be expected with the world’s richest couple and an Asgardian prince and his girlfriend practically bursting at the seams with excitement for his arrival.  Picking up a little onesie with dinosaurs all over it, she held it close to her face, taking a breath of it.  Everything was washed, folded, ready.  And it all looked so small.  Tiny.  She tried to picture what he would look like in it, but she couldn’t.  Would he have blond hair like his dad?  Blue eyes like his dad?  Wondering was an indulgence she didn’t often oblige, but she did now, and it felt nothing but good.

Soon.  But not too soon.  No contractions.  No nothing.  Apparently her best-laid plans to start labor had pretty fantastically failed.  Steve was right, though.  That was a good thing now.

She went down to make herself breakfast.  For a couple minutes she considered the spicy foods again, that sausage with a kick and maybe putting hot peppers in her omelet, but she decided against it.  She didn’t like it, and the heartburn that sometimes came with it wasn’t worth the odd chance that it would do anything to get labor going.  Not that she wanted labor going at this point.  For the same reason (and the bit of cramping that wouldn’t quit), she forewent her exercise routine, too, and decided to keep quiet for the day.  Distract herself and wait.  _Thirty-six hours._   That meant Steve would be home tomorrow evening.  She could make it.

So she settled down on the couch in their living room to watch TV for a bit, taking the rest of Steve’s paperwork from their office to finish it for him.  She desperately wanted a cup of coffee.  Caffeine was another thing she missed terribly; she hadn’t had a cup for months.  She made herself be happy with water.  James was still quiet, which made concentrating on the work easier.  She was about halfway through the first mission report when the doorbell rang.

_Who in the world is that?_

Natasha groaned, setting her tablets aside and pushing herself up and off the couch with some effort.  With her hand on her lower back, she went to the door, unlocked it, and opened it.  Confusion worked over her, and she frowned.  “Hi?”

Clint stuffed his hands in his jeans.  “Hi.”  She could see his SUV out in their driveway behind him.  Obviously he’d driven all the way to their house outside the city.  And it was pretty obvious why from the look on his face.  This wasn’t work-related.  This wasn’t SHIELD or Avengers business.  This wasn’t even because they were friends, good, close, _best_ friends.  No, this was because she’d married an overprotective jerk and was surrounded by overprotective jerks.

But she asked anyway.  Benefit of the doubt and all that.  “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged.  “Thought I’d keep you some company.”

 _Right._   That was evidence enough right there.  For being a master assassin and spy, Clint was a pretty bad liar when it came to normal social settings.  Like being sent to keep an eye on his heavily pregnant friend because her husband was going overseas for a bit.  “Out of the goodness of your heart, huh.”

“Yep.”

“Not because your captain gave you a direct order.”

Clint grinned.  It was only a bit shit-eating.  “Nope.  It’s because I love your company, Nat.  You look positively radiant today.  Glowing and all that.”

She glared at him.  “It’s a wonder Laura put up with you two times over.  Shouldn’t you be home with her, anyway?  You have today off.”

He shrugged again, coming into their house without her strict invitation.  Not that he needed one.  Ever since he’d rescued her from the Red Room years ago, he’d done everything in his power to keep her safe, to help her escape her dark past and become a SHIELD agent.  She owed him everything.  And he’d been more than supportive of her relationship with Steve, even going so far as to (ineptly) playing matchmaker a bit.  Clint had been happily married for ten years, and he had two kids of his own.  He’d always wanted that sort of domestic stability for her.  It seemed incongruous given who they were and what they did, but stability they had.

Or at least she _would_ have once the baby was born.  If he ever decided to come.

At any rate, Clint took a look around, at the work she’d left partially finished on the couch and the episode of _Orange Is the New Black_ that was playing on the TV.  “She’s fine with it.  Declared that my doting was better spent somewhere else.  And by doting she clearly meant my sitting and watching whatever I want on TV, since it is, you know, my day off.”  He plunked himself in her vacated spot on the couch.  “And Steve did promise me I could watch _Top Gear._   That cool with you?”

She was about to tell him exactly how _not_ cool that was when something happened.  With no warning, that little, irritating, background haze of cramping that had been going on all morning ramped up _significantly._   It was like a shock of pain, of muscles contracting, all through her pelvis and wrapping around her back and crawling its way up her abdomen.  It was so alarming that she stopped walking, grasping the back of the couch for support.  The world condensed for a moment, all of her senses acutely trained on that sensation inside without her volition, and she tried to breathe.

But it passed as quickly as it came.  Another cramp.  She blinked, exhaled slowly, came back to herself.  Saw Clint watching her with worry in his eyes.  “You okay?”

She gave a nod which was way too flustered and forced to be convincing.  “Yeah.  I’m fine.  Want some coffee?”  She took a step, and, there, that was better.  The pain was gone as quickly as it had come.  She was fine.  “We have cereal.  Golden Grahams or Cap’n Crunch?”

Warily Clint watched her go.  “You and the Cap’n make it happen,” he replied.  “You probably never saw those commercials, huh.”

“No.”

“Well, you and the Cap’n did make it happen.  It being baby.”

“Clever.”

He grinned, reaching for the remote on the coffee table.  “See how much nicer this is?  You have some awesome company instead of sitting alone all day in a quiet house all by yourself.”

“One is normally alone when one is all by himself.”

“And you get the added joy of my wit.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and went into the spacious kitchen.  She set the coffee pot on, getting the grounds ready and trying not to think about how good they smelled.  Once that was started, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk.  For a second she considered eating something else; there was fruit in there that she liked, and she was still a little hungry.  But she didn’t feel like it, so she closed the fridge up and reached for the cereal.

Whoa.  There was the cramp.  She almost dropped the cereal box, leaning against the counter as the pain worked its way over her.  It wasn’t the worst pain she’d ever experienced by any means, but it had a certain punch to it, a consuming ache that she couldn’t really ignore.  Again, though, it came and went so quickly that she didn’t know what to make of it.  She read that labor contractions lasted longer, and she’d suffered a few of those Braxton-Hicks contractions, or whatever they were, off and on for months.  This just felt… weird.  Like her body was grumpy about the fact she’d had sex last night (a lot of sex, now that she thought about it).  She didn’t know what to make of it.

So instead she made Clint’s bowl of cereal and cup of coffee, loading it with cream and sugar like she knew he liked, and carried it out to him.  Clint beamed.  “Don’t tell Steve you waited on me.”

She grunted, waddling around the couch to go sit on the loveseat.  “Maybe you deserve his wrath,” she said, a tad breathless as she lowered herself down.  That set off another cramp, and she winced.

Clint’s spoon was midway between the bowl and his mouth when he noticed.  “You feeling okay?”

Maybe it was indigestion, too.  That was another “pleasure” of pregnancy.  “Fine,” she said, brushing his concern away anew.  She rested her other hand on the crest of her stomach.  God, it felt like a rock beneath her fingers.  James shifted a little, but he quieted against instantly.  Even he seemed off.  “I’m fine.”

Clint knew her _way_ too well to be sold on that.  “Anything going on?”

“Nope.”  He cocked an eyebrow, and she knew her expression was betraying her lie.  She could feel the wince about her eyes.  So she glared at him, pouring every bit of her characteristic ice into the look, because he wouldn’t stop staring.  “Quit it.  It’s nothing.”

Wisely he backed off.  “Okay.”

They sat in silence for a bit, watching the morning news stream by on CNN.  Clint had turned off her show without asking.  What was it with men and thinking they owned whatever remote happened to be closest to them?  The anchorwoman was talking about the situation in Iran, and Natasha couldn’t help but be surprised that the terrorist threat was international news.  She’d been so consumed with her own situation and trying to get her labor started that she’d become rather disconnected from the world at large.  Feeling guilty and a little ashamed, she listened as the news team detailed what was known about the crisis, that NATO and SHIELD were working together to try and ferret out and prevent a plot to bomb multiple public and heavily utilized locations in Tehran.  People were living in fear there, lives put on standstill until the situation was secured.  They really did need Captain America.

And paying attention was keeping her mind off the cramps.  She was noticing they were a little rhythmic, not what she would call _regular_ , but they definitely had a pattern.  And they were lasting longer, too.  But it was nothing.  It had to be.  They shouldn’t have had sex last night, that was all.  Steve was right.  The baby had to come soon, so maybe this was the very beginning of things, like the preliminary intel gathering done before an op.  So early that the mission objectives and resources necessary weren’t even clear, so there was no reason to start definitively planning, let alone call a briefing or get other people involved.  It was nothing.

“You know, Steve’ll be back on time,” Clint finally offered.  Natasha turned to him, yanked from her worries, and found him watching her.  His bowl of cereal was empty, and he set it to the coffee table.  “He’ll be here.  Nothing’s started, right?”

“Right.”

Clint leaned back into the couch cushions.  “But even if he doesn’t make it, it’s okay.  I wasn’t there when Cooper was born.”

It hurt to hear that.  Natasha winced, and not just because this time the cramp felt like more than a cramp.  “You weren’t?”

“Nope.  I was in Venezuela hunting down an 084 with Maria.  The op went a lot longer than anyone thought it would, and there was no easy way to be extracted.  She and I were even out of communication for a couple days, so I didn’t know he was born until SHIELD picked us up.”  There was something in Clint’s eyes.  Not pain or sadness.  Maybe a touch of regret.  “Finally got home two days after Laura had him.  I was worried I’d feel wrong about it all or weird or like I’d screwed up, but I didn’t.  I just…  I loved him, same as I would have loved him if I’d been there right away.  Those two days didn’t matter at all.  It happened the way it was meant to happen.  And Laura was fine.  I mean, she gave me shit about it, but loving shit.”  Natasha smiled.  That sounded like Laura.  “She had her mom and her sister, so it was all good.  She told me after Lila was born that it was better when I wasn’t there.  Apparently I’m, quote unquote, ‘good for nothing when it comes to female problems’.”  He smiled.  “She probably has a point there.  All I remember about Lila being born was…  Well, you don’t need to hear that right now.”

No, she didn’t.  The cramping was getting worse, so much so that she wanted to get up and see if a change in posture got rid of it.  Still, she stayed put and waited for it to pass.  It would pass, because for all her desperation over these last few days ( _weeks_ ) and attempts to encourage labor from starting, it couldn’t start now.  Nope.  No way.  So she was ignoring this until it stopped.  And Clint was going on, so she tried to focus on him.  “Anyway, the point is, we’re soldiers and spies.  And Avengers.  Whatever happens, we’ll always be that.  So you just have to make it work sometimes and trust it’ll be okay.  Like now.  Not that anything is going to happen.”

“Nothing’s happening,” she said, more harshly than she intended.  She couldn’t hide her grimace, though, as she felt something decidedly _wet_ between her legs.  Horrified, she stood up with alarming speed.  There was nothing beneath where she was sitting, but – _oh my God_ – she felt what she could only describe as a whoosh of liquid _inside her_ and now she could feel it trickling down her thighs.

Clint stood, too.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!  Nothing,” she lied.  She was moving fast, though, rounding the couch and heading toward the stairs, hopefully fast enough to deal with the mess before he noticed.  “Bathroom.”

“Bathroom?”

“Bathroom!”

 _Oh, God.  Oh, God.  Oh, God._   That was all she was thinking as she climbed the steps in record time.  _Oh, God.  Oh, God._   Down the hall she flew.  _Oh, God._   Into their bedroom, closing the door behind her.  Into the bathroom.  She pulled her dress up and underpants down.  “Oh, God,” she moaned.

Her water broke.

It was hard not to panic, but she was Black Widow.  She’d stared down the worst of the world’s enemies, evil men and tyrants and deranged demigods and the like.  She could handle this.  And it didn’t mean anything, right?  It didn’t mean the baby was coming _right now_.  No, she’d read online that that just signaled (finally one that was pretty obviously unambiguous!) that things were starting.  Moving along.  Thus with the panic came excitement and fear and worry and _this isn’t happening yet.  Stay calm._   It was fine.  It could be another twenty-four hours or longer (she wasn’t sure she’d read that part, but her racing mind wasn’t going to stop to be bothered with little things like facts in its attempt to assuage her).  She was fine.  James was fine.  They had time.

So she got a new pair of underpants, throwing the others out.  She cleaned up as best she could, put a pad on, and got dressed, this time in stretchy, cotton tan shorts to hold everything in place better and a pink blouse.  She glanced at her reflection in the mirror when she was through.  This was fine.  She looked rattled, but a few deep breaths helped.  It was all good.  James wasn’t coming yet.

She made it about as far as their bed before the contraction hit.  And this was a contraction.  Now she understood what it felt like.  There was no mistaking it.  A contraction.  Not cramps.  Not a twinge of pain or a little, meaningless tightening of muscles down there.  Nothing fake or false or practice-like.  No, this was a full-body, uterus squeezing, back bending, not breathing, holy-shit-it-hurts _contraction_.  “Oh,” she moaned, waiting for it to pass.  “Oh, no.  No, no, no.”  _Not yet._

Oh, the irony.

When it was over, she made her way downstairs.  Up came a mask of unflappable, unwavering poise.  This was fine.  Sure, her water had broken.  And, sure, she was having contractions.  But Bruce and her doctors said it wasn’t time to call the hospital (or even think about calling the hospital) until the contractions were steadily coming five to seven minutes apart.  That was one.  _One._   She had time!

The jig was up, though.  Clint was watching her come down the stairs, and he had his phone up to his ear.  She scowled in suspicion, her attempt at seeming nonchalant dashed by panic again.  “Who’re you calling?”

Clint shook his head.  “Bruce.  Because you’re in labor.”

The mere word made her flinch.  She reached the bottom of the steps, practically fuming and deep in willful blindness.  “I am not in labor.”

“Oh, really?  Mind explaining what I just cleaned up?”  She winced again, noticing now the roll of paper towels on the table and the spray bottle of household cleaner and the shining damp spot on the floor where she’d stood from the couch before.  Apparently she hadn’t been so fast in getting upstairs.  Cheeks burning embarrassment, she felt her eyes welling with tears.  _No._   “Or why you’re wearing something else?”

There was no sense in lying.  “My water broke.”

“No shit,” Clint said, a bit breathless.  He gave a little grin.  “We need to get you to the hospital.”

It was ridiculous and silly and childish, but she sat back on the couch.  “No.”

Disgruntled and maybe a tad frantic and a whole lot surprised, Clint pulled his phone away.  “Bruce isn’t answering.  That’s typical.  And what do you mean, no?”

She folded her arms across her breasts.  “I’m not going.”

“Uh…”

“I’m not having contractions.”

Doubtful didn’t begin to describe his expression.  “What?”

“I said I’m not having contractions,” she said again, forcing her voice to be firm and even.  She was an expert in lying.  She could pull this off.  “I’m not.  And I read online that it could be another twelve to twenty-four or even thirty-six–”  Okay, that was a load of crap.  “–hours before labor can start.  So there’s no need to panic or call anyone.  Except Steve.”  She took a deep breath.  “If you wouldn’t mind?”

Clint knew her too well.  He knew just how proficient she was at acting and playing people, so of course he was wary.  She remained steadfast, though, not cracking at all under his analytical gaze, even as she felt another contraction threatening.  “You’re sure?”

Somehow she kept her face lax and her voice level through the pain.  Never underestimate the power of denial.  “Absolutely.  There’s nothing else going on.”

For a moment longer he watched her.  She kept firm.  Eventually he caved with a sigh.  “Steve’s probably halfway across the world by now.”

She knew that.  But they had to try because she wasn’t having this baby without him.  “Can you call anyway?”

Clint nodded and started thumbing through the contacts on his phone.  He went into the kitchen, and she could hear him working through the security clearances to get a hold of Hill.  Relieved to be out of his line of sight so she could dispense with the act, she collapsed back into the couch cushions.  Fuck, this hurt.  It hurt bad.  She clutched at her abdomen, panting and squeezing her eyes shut.  _Please get a hold of him,_ she thought desperately, breathing raggedly through the pain.  _Please get him home.  Please let him turn back.  Please please please…_

She gathered herself just in time because Clint came back.  He was frowning, worried.  “I talked to Maria.  They’re already committed.  They’ll be engaged in less than an hour.  They can’t extract.”

Natasha tried hard not to cry, but she felt like she’d been punched in the gut.  That hurt worse than the contractions.  She swallowed through a dry throat.  “Okay.”

“She promised me they’d get a hold of him as soon as the terrorists are neutralized.”

She’d never wanted Steve to plow down their enemies so badly in her entire life.  _With prejudice_ for being assholes and having the nerve to plan their evil right around her due date.  Clint was staring like he thought his mere gaze had the power to peer through her façade and see the truth (or at least make her uncomfortable enough to confess that she was lying).  She was much better than that.  “Stop watching me.  You’re making me nervous.”

“Alright,” he finally conceded.  He sat back down on the couch.  “Not one contraction?”

“Nope.”

“Not at all?”

_“No.”_

“Okay then.”

They stopped talking.  Clint flipped through the channels, but neither of them was really watching the TV.  Natasha sat stiffly, bracing herself against each contraction as they came.  _Nope.  This isn’t happening._   They weren’t that bad.  She could ignore them still, so it was fine.  No reason to rush into anything.  No reason to go anywhere.  No reason to – _God that hurts okay okay okay breathe just breathe it’s not bad and there’s time and I’m not having this baby without Steve!_

After about thirty minutes, she knew she wasn’t doing much of a decent job at hiding anything.  She could feel sweat collecting on her forehead, and she couldn’t keep her breathing even all the time or the tension from her form (or probably the wince from her face).  As the contractions went on, concentrating on acting like they weren’t there was too hard.  Just getting through them required all her effort.  She knew she should be timing them because she vaguely realized they were getting closer together, more and more regular (and quickly, too), but timing them meant accepting that they _needed_ to be timed, which meant this was serious, which it wasn’t, so there was no reason to.

Except Clint called her out on her bullshit.  “Yeah, you’re not fine.”

She breathed through the end of the contraction, staring at the TV and trying to stay calm.  “I am,” she managed.  “Nothing’s happening.”  She saw him moving out of the corner of her eye.  “What’re you doing?”

“Calling Tony.”

 _No._   “Don’t need Tony.”

“Tony is probably with Bruce, and we need Bruce, so I’m calling.”

“We don’t need Bruce.”  The wan look he gave her was all she needed to know just how much he believed her.  He held his phone up to his ear.  “Clint, it’s fine.  It’s fine!  The baby’s not coming.”

“He was supposed to come five days ago.”

“Oh, look, _Top Chef!_   I love this show.  Turn it up.”  Yeah, that was pathetic.  And she was grimacing and groaning her way through this nonsense because another contraction was on its way.  “Labor…  Labor starts and stops all the time.  I read that online.”

“You read that…  Okay, yeah, we’re calling Tony.”  Before she could argue further, he was up and heading to the kitchen.  She could see how flustered he was, his shoulders tense and his hand raking through his hair, as he started talking.  She wanted to yell after him, to tell him to stop, but she couldn’t because the contraction was too painful to do anything else than whimper and whine her way through it.

She lost track of time then because when she opened her eyes, Clint was crouching at her side.  His hands were firm on hers.  “Bruce said we need to go the hospital.  He’ll meet us there.”

Her reaction was immediate.  Irrational, probably, but immediate.  “No.”

Clint’s face fractured in worry.  “Nat…”

“I’m not in labor,” she insisted.  She glanced at the TV.  “Look!  It’s Restaurant Wars.  This is great.  Watch.  How hard do you think it is to do this?  I mean, they only have a day to get a restaurant started.  It’s not just the menu.  It’s the look and the décor and–”  Her words were choked off by another contraction.  She grabbed his hand hard, hard enough to dig her nails into his skin, and he winced as she moaned and gasped.

When it was gone enough that she could focus, he was trying to pull her up.  “Come on.  I’m taking you to the hospital.  Right now.”

She shook her head, wiping at her eyes.  “No.”

“They’re coming fast.”

“No, they’re not.”

He grimaced and shook his head incredulously at her.  “So now you’re admitting you’re having them, though.”

 _Caught._   Like that wasn’t blindingly obvious anyway.  But she wasn’t giving an inch more than she had to.  It was completely irrational, delusional and crazy and stupid, but whatever.  “They’re not regular.”

“Are you kidding me?  They’re coming like clockwork.  Every three or four minutes.”  She should have known he’d figure it out.  Even if it wasn’t obvious, Hawkeye was as perceptive off the battlefield as he was on it.  “I’ve timed contractions before, you know.  We need to go to the hospital now.”

Emphatically she shook her head.  “No,” she said again, absolutely obstinate.  Clint sighed, very clearly worried and frazzled and getting more and more worried and frazzled every second they weren’t moving.  “I’m fine right here.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, but I think we should go.  Steve left me in charge of taking care of you, and I’m pretty sure getting you to the hospital so you don’t have your baby on your couch falls into that rubric.”

“Jesus, Clint…”

“Come.  We need to go.”

“I’m not going.  I’m just going to sit here.”  She made a show of relaxing into the couch.  It was harder than it should have been.  “I’m just going to sit here, and the contractions will stop.  They will.”  She sagged a little as the last grip of the latest one faded.  “They’re already getting better,” she said around a long breath.  She smiled.  “See?  All good.  He’s not coming now.”

“Nat, that’s crazy.”

“He’s not coming now, Clint.”

“I love you, and you’re amazing, but you’re being absolutely ridiculous.  You’re in _labor_.  Right now.  You’re having that baby.”

“No, I’m not.  There’s still time.”

He was losing his temper, getting more and more frantic.  “Hospital.  Let’s go.”

“Nope.  Nope, nope.  Nuh-uh.  I’m fine.  I’m–”  Her words escalated into a cry when the next contraction hit, this one harder and harsher than all the others before. 

“Natasha!”  She leaned forward, shivering with it, and Clint swooped in, getting his arm around her.  “Easy, easy.  Breathe.  Come on.  Breathe.”  She breathed.  The pain was serious.  It felt like her entire midsection was splitting at the seams, like her uterus was trying to invert itself or something.  Agony, sharp and sucking, went up her spine and down her thighs and wrapping around her front like a cruel and merciless fist squeezing.  “Breathe.  You got this.  Breathe.”

She breathed.  Tears flooded her eyes as she struggled to stay calm, to get above the pain.  It seemed to go on forever, but it really only lasted a minute or so.  And suddenly, as she slipped down the other side of it, she couldn’t hide anything anymore. “I can’t do this,” she whimpered.  She opened wet eyes and frowned at Clint, her lips quivering.  “I can’t do this, Clint!  I can’t without Steve!”

Clint seemed helpless a moment, like the reality of it all was really sinking into him, too.  “It’s going to be okay.”

“How?” she snapped.  “How?  Steve’s on the other side of the world!  He’s not here!  _He’s not here!_ ”

Clint grounded her, cradled her face and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.  Made her look at him.  “I know,” he said calmly.  “I know you’re scared without him.  And I know I’m not as good as he is by half, but I’m here, okay?  I’m going to stay with you.  You’re not going to have to go through this alone.  I’ll stand in until he gets there.”  Natasha barked a sob at that.  _Until he gets there._   Steve was _hours_ away.  There was no way he’d make it in time.

But Clint seemed so calm, so sure.  Just seeing that was comforting, easing her before he even said anything else.  “So trust me.  It’s going to be okay.  It’s all going to be _fine_.  Let’s just…”  He gathered her hands where they were clenched on her knees.  “Let’s just get you to the hospital where you can have that baby.  No big deal.  Steve can find you there just as easy as he can here, right?  He’s smart like that.”

She laughed a little.  “Yeah.”

Clint nodded.  “Not a big deal at all.  All you have to worry about is breathing.  I’ll take care of everything else.”

 _I’m fine.  This is fine._ She drew in a deep breath, shaking still, and her fingers trembled as she wiped her eyes.  Another deep breath was cleansing, centering.  “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.  Okay.”

Clint grinned.  “So I’m going to go upstairs and find the hospital bag.  You have one packed?”

She nodded.  “Yeah.  By the closet.”

“Okay.  Sit tight.”  He was doing a bang-up job of seeming composed, but as soon as he thought he was out of her line of sight, he was running.  Clambering up the steps.  Thundering down the hallway.  She could hear his footsteps, but she couldn’t care much because she was breathing through another contraction, wincing and cradling her belly.  _Hurry, Clint.  Hurry hurry hurry_ –

He ran back down the steps, their overnight hospital bag slung over his shoulder.  “Okay.  Let me help you up.”  She glared at him, a touch of her old dislike of being coddled peering through a mask of sweaty misery, but he wasn’t cowed in the least.  He took her arm and gently but insistently got her on her feet.  Out the door they went.  Clint paused to lock up before guiding Natasha, who was slow and ungainly and moaning despite her best efforts to be better than the pain, toward his SUV.  He opened the back door for her and helped her get inside.  Then he slammed it shut and raced around to the driver’s side.  In went their bag, and he was turning the car on before he was even fully seated.  “Buckle up.”

“Clint!”

“Right.”  The wheels squealed as he took off down their driveway.  A few seconds later they were screaming down the street.  Natasha had never been afraid driving anywhere with anyone before, but she was now.  And Clint’s level of disquiet was getting more and more obvious as he took turns ridiculously fast, speeding around the quiet roads of their neighborhood.  He had one hand on the wheel, the other holding his phone.  “Yeah!  Bruce, we’re on our way.  Be there soon.  Is she – she’s okay.  You’re okay, right, Nat?”  _No!_   The next contraction was brutal, and she wailed before she could stifle it, clutching at her stomach.  Clint winced in the rearview mirror.  “Yeah, she’s fine.  We’re incoming.”

“Incoming?  This isn’t a damn mission!” Natasha snapped, breathing fire as she struggled through the pain.  She swore vulgarly in Russian, panting and clutching at the seat.  “God, this hurts.”

“You got this, Nat,” Clint said again.  He swerved around cars as they joined a busier road.  “It’s fine.  We got it.  We’ll get you there, you’ll get some drugs, and everything’ll be–”

“It’s my fault,” she moaned.  She didn’t even know what she was saying.  It seemed that the dam around her emotions was cracking and cracking even more, and everything was coming out.  She rubbed at her eyes, _hating_ how weak and out of control she felt, but she couldn’t stop herself.  “It’s my fault we had sex.”

Despite the life he led, Clint went red.  It made sense.  A woman he loved like his sister was talking about sex in front of him.  He turned sharply again, nearly avoiding rear-ending someone.  Thank God for all the high speed car chases he’d done in his career.  “Uh, isn’t that a moot point now?  And that is the way you make a baby.”

“No, no,” she gasped.  “No, I mean…  Last night.”  She gritted her teeth against the next contraction coming.  “Last night we had sex.  It was my idea.  I thought it would get labor going.  I read it online.”  She squirmed, trying to breathe evenly and not fall apart completely.  “I knew he had to leave, and I told him to…” _Fuck me._   What the hell had she been thinking?  “I didn’t want him to go, so I thought if I could get labor going, you know, if he… inside me.  And sperm has–”

“Okay, TMI,” Clint said.  She caught his eyes.  “And I don’t think that did it.”

“It did!  I know it did!  It had to!  It’s not an old wives’ tale!”

Clint shook his head.  “I think that sounds like the very definition of an old wives’ tale.”

Natasha moaned.  “And I did a bunch of other stupid stuff.  So stupid, Clint.  I shouldn’t have.  Spicy foods and exercising and rubbing my nipples and–”

“Cap, you owe me for this so bad,” Clint muttered.  He blew a long breath out.  “I highly doubt _any_ of that meant anything.  You wanna know why you’re in labor?  Because you’re pregnant and five days overdue!”

He was probably right.  Probably.  And it was all water under the bridge at this point.  Still, she was delirious enough, with the car speeding and jolting down the road and the contractions coming faster and faster, that she couldn’t get her mind around anything other than the fact that sex with Captain America had gotten her pregnant in the first place, had gotten her right into this mess.

Apparently sex was also getting her out of it.

* * *

It was a definitely ridiculous – something she’d never forget _ever_ – to see the Avengers waiting for them at the hospital.  The place was already swarming with SHIELD agents; the birth of Captain America and Black Widow’s child was a matter of international security, so everything was practically locked down for their arrival.  But having three superheroes loitering around outside the emergency room door, fidgeting and pacing and watching for them?  Somewhat disturbing.

So was the fact that they rushed to them like a flock of mother hens, crowding the car the second Clint pulled up and stopped.  Thor pulled her door open forcefully; just a little bit more of his strength would have likely torn the thing from the side of the car.  As it was, Clint glared and shouted, “Hey!”

Natasha squirmed as he reached for her.  “I don’t need – you don’t need to – I – I–”  She quit complaining with a choked off cry.  The contractions were coming fast now, every couple of minutes, and she still wanted Steve so much, _so bad._

But Thor was the closest she could have, so she let him pick her up and carry her out even though she could walk, _thank you very much_.  “Place your arms around my neck,” Thor instructed, “if you can.”  She wanted to snap at him that she definitely _could_ , but it was too much work, so she just hung on as he took her inside.  He was big and strong and now that she was this close to him, she realized he smelled a weird but not unpleasant combination of Old Spice and what she could only describe as Asgard.  “Barton, have you their bag?”

“Have it.  Here, Stark!”  The bag was tossed at Tony, who looked pale and flustered.  It smacked him in the face before he could catch it.  “I’m gonna park the car.”  With that, Clint was climbing back in and speeding off.

“Natasha?”  That was Bruce.  In between panting through another contraction, she cracked open her eyes and saw him staring at her.  There was concern on his face, lips pursed with it, but he seemed calm.  Seemed calm.  She knew Bruce well enough now to discern between a façade of calm and actual calm.  This was very much the former.  “When did the contractions start?”

How the hell was she supposed to know that?  She’d been in denial for most of it!  “Couple hours,” she said.  That seemed reasonable enough.

“And Clint said your water broke?  When was that?”

“Couple hours!”

“How bad is the pain?”  She responded to that with a wrangled scream and fiery eyes, and Bruce backed off.  “Okay.  Alright.  Got it.  Thor, let’s get her in and upstairs.  They already have a bed ready in labor and delivery.”

 _Labor and delivery.  God, this is really happening._   Every time she thought she was on the verge of accepting that, something else came charging in and upsetting her, like the fact they weren’t just at the hospital but they were going to the obstetrics floor where she would _labor_ and _deliver_ this baby.  _I’m not ready.  I’m not ready.  I need Steve.  I’m not ready!_

It didn’t seem like there was much choice in the matter, not about being ready or going there, because Thor was carrying her to the elevator.  The few people waiting immediately scattered when they saw the Avengers, flanked by SHIELD agents, coming their way.  They got in the elevator, and up they went.

And Tony asked the obvious question.  “Where the hell is Steve?”

Natasha wailed.  Christ, she couldn’t control her emotions at all like this.  Every ounce of her normal indomitable composure was bleeding away, sucked dry by these unmanageable changes overcoming her body.  “On a mission!” she gasped, burying her face in Thor’s neck to hide her tears.  “Over in Iran!”

Tony’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed.  “Seriously?”

“Not his fault!” she gasped.  She didn’t know why she felt the need to defend Steve.  Tony wouldn’t blame him.  That snippy tone in his voice was directed at SHIELD or Fury or at the awful twists of fate that had led to this, not at Steve.  Steve and Tony were friends, good friends, and even though Tony teased Steve continually, it was all out of love.  Still, she blubbered on.  “Fury sent him!  Fury said he had to go!”

Tony glowered, shaking his head in disgust.  “What the actual fuck,” he grumbled.  “That won’t stand.”  The elevator dinged, and out they went onto the maternity floor.  Natasha choked on a cry, her whole body stiffening its way through the next wave of pain.  She could barely hear Tony over the thundering of her heart.  “I’m calling Fury.”

She couldn’t help her hope, even if it was far-fetched and unlikely.  The damage was already done.  Steve was already _gone._   “What good is that going to do?”

Tony shook his head, reaching for his StarkPhone as they rushed down the hallway.  “Watch me fix this, Red.  I’m fixing it.  Steve’s missed seventy years of life.  He’s not missing this.”  Natasha looked at Tony over Thor’s shoulder, but he was already busily tapping at his phone with nothing but determination in his eyes.  Her own eyes burned with grateful tears this time – _thank you, Tony_ – and a small smile crossed her lips.  Maybe it was too late, but the fact that Tony was going to try to do something…  It meant the world.

They reached the room.  Thor carefully set Natasha on the hospital bed, and Bruce was there instantly.  So was a slew of nurses and a couple doctors.  Natasha stiffened at the amount of people surrounding her, that crawling feeling of weakness and vulnerability and exposure that she’d mostly kept at bay throughout the pregnancy coming on strong.  Thor immediately realized her concerns without a word, and he was politely pushing the others back until she could get her bearings.  Only Bruce and one nurse stayed close.

“Alright, let’s get you changed and situated.  Then we’ll see how things are progressing, okay?”  Bruce smiled comfortingly.  “It’s going to be fine, Tash.  Don’t worry about a thing.”

That was impossible.  In the privacy of the bathroom, she changed into a hospital gown.  Then they wrapped fetal and contraction monitors around her belly on the hospital bed.  Took her vitals.  Got everything ready.  A doctor came in, a nice, older gentleman who seemed cool and experienced and not at all bothered by the prospect of delivering Captain America’s baby.  He examined her, and, God, she hadn’t quite wanted Thor or Tony in the room for _that_ , but everything was happening so fast that she didn’t think to get rid of them before it was happening.  Thor was right at her head anyway, eyes firmly on her and her hand in his, and Tony was pacing over by the windows, still carrying her bag and furiously talking on the phone.  She didn’t know who was on the other end, but whoever it was was getting a serious tongue-lashing by a man with the money, means, and mental acumen to make the person’s worst nightmares come true.

“You’re about six centimeters,” the doctor announced, “and fully effaced.  The baby’s head is in good position, and everything’s proceeding smoothly.  Did you have any thought about pain medication?”

“Yes,” Natasha gasped, feeling gross with sweat and desperate for relief.  “Give me some.”

Thor’s brow furrowed, and she could see what he was going to say before he even started.  “Far be it for me to render my opinion–”  _But you’re rendering it anyway._ “–but on Asgard, women in the throes of childbirth rarely seek comfort from medicinal means.  Instead they rely upon the spirit of the universe and the comfort of the child’s sire.”

“Well, said child’s sire is not here!” Natasha gasped, writhing anew.  She squeezed Thor’s hand hard enough that he actually grimaced.  “And screw the spirit of the universe!”

The doctor smirked.  “Epidural it is!”

He left, and Clint came in.  _What is this?  A show?_ She hadn’t _quite_ fathomed that morning that she’d be laboring with a master marksman, a billionaire inventor, a scientist turned rage monster, and an alien demigod watching.  So much for what remained of her dignity.  And she wanted to spit fire about that – she _deserved_ to spit fire about it – but talking was too much work.  Clint looked relieved.  “Car’s parked.  Everything’s secured.  Fury at least sent over a ton of help.”  He came right to the other side of the bed.  “How’s it going, Nat?”

“Swimmingly!” Thor proclaimed.  “She is six centimeters dilated and fully effaced!  The babe’s head is near the birth canal!”

Her face burned with a mixture of pain, embarrassment, and anger.  Another coming contraction stole her breath, so _again_ she couldn’t say a thing to stop them from _smothering her._   Clint and Thor hovered.  Bruce was at the monitors beside the bed, studying the baby’s heartbeat and the contractions coming like a hawk, like this was his sacred duty.  Even though the doctor had said mere minutes ago that everything was fine, he felt the need to render his own opinion.  “Everything’s looking great.  Baby’s heartbeat is perfect.  Contractions are coming every two minutes or so.  Looks like there’s one coming now.  Make sure you breathe, Tash, nice and easy.  Don’t let the pain control you.  Nice, deep breaths.  Okay?  Here it comes.  Keeping breathing.  You’re doing great.”

“Like this,” Clint said.  And he showed her, like she didn’t know.  Like she hadn’t had a personal Lamaze coach the last couple months and hadn’t been studying this on the internet and reading books obsessively because she’d had nothing else to do and like she hadn’t _breathed through pain before._   God, in their line of work, it was a required skillset.  But still he demonstrated!  “In through the nose, out through the mouth.  In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

“You are a brave warrior,” Thor added.  “Squeeze my hand as much as you need to.  I can bear it.”

“Or there’s this way,” Clint said.  And he felt the need to show her that, too.  The hee-hee-huh-huh method that was older than _time._   He looked positively ridiculous, and he seemed to realize that a few hee-hees into it.  Flushing, he backed off.  “But you do whatever works for you.  That’s what Laura did.  And it worked, so–”

“Pain is merely an obstacle,” Thor added _again._   “An obstacle that you must overcome to propel this child into our world.  It has its purpose, to ready your body and prove you worthy in this moment.  It is the true sign of strength, to bear life.  It is–”

“You guys, _shut up!  Oh, God!  Oh, God!_ ”  She cried out.  _I want Steve.  I want Steve so much.  I need Steve.  I can’t do this without Steve._ “Tony!” she screamed.  “Did you get a hold of him?”

Tony looked a cross between wanting to watch and wanting to puke.  “Not yet.  Hill brushed me off.  Sitwell ignored me.  Fury said they’re going to tell him, but he wouldn’t give me details.  You’ll be happy to know I tore him a new one for this.”  It was too hard to focus on all that with the pain, so her brain reduced that to a “no”, and she sobbed her way down the other side of the contraction.  Tony frowned, but he didn’t come any closer like Natasha was sick, like the pain (or the pregnancy) could somehow be catching.  “Hey, hey.  Don’t cry.  I know the op’s done for sure.”

She jolted out of her anguished stupor, sitting up and skewering Tony with focused, bright eyes.  “Really?”

Tony nodded, practically beaming.  “Yeah.  JARVIS and I hacked the SHIELD mainframe.”  Normally she’d be angry about that, but at the moment it was the nicest thing she’d ever heard.  “It’s over.  No casualties on our end.  Resounding success.  Terrorists 0, Captain America 1 and all that.”

She flopped back down on the bed, squirming in discomfort.  “If it’s done, then where is he?  Where is he?” she whined.  “Where is he?”

“He’s coming,” Bruce placated.  “He’s coming as soon as he can, honey.”

 _You did not just call me that._   Bruce meant it sweetly, of course, a tender, little, comforting diminutive to ease her in her time of need.  But the rage and frustration boiled over inside her, fueled by all the pain and the fear, and she didn’t care if she looked a tad possessed.  Demonic.  Head-spinning and red eyes and all that.  Bruce backed off, mortified.  Clint had the common sense to look away.  Even Thor let her go.  She turned to glare at Tony.  “I want Steve.  I want him now.  Call the field office in Kuwait!  Call them!”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Tony said.  He was also panicked, and he was furiously and frenetically going at his phone again.  “I’m working on it, okay?  Even miracles take a few minutes.”

 _This_ miracle – this baby – was coming too fast for that.  Natasha whined, rolling to her side, and started weeping.  God, this was pathetic.  Awful.  So damn embarrassing.  But she was scraped raw, low and scared, in labor and Steve was thousands of miles away when he needed to be _there with her_.  Even still, Tony and Clint and Thor and Bruce…  They didn’t deserve to be treated this way.  They were her friends, her family, her brothers in a sense, not by blood but by something much stronger.  They were all she had, and they were doing their best.  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.  “I’m so sorry.”

And the super protective air that she’d blasted away seconds before came right back.  “It is no bother, Natasha,” Thor said, his big hand falling onto her head, his other holding hers anew.  “To suffer through this without your mate…  It is likely terrifying.”

“But you don’t need to worry about a thing,” Bruce said.  “It’s going to go just fine.  Pretty soon, you’ll have that baby in your arms and it’ll be over.  You’re doing great, Tash.  Just great.”

Clint kissed her forehead.  “Would you rather have Laura here?”  Natasha immediately and emphatically shook her head.  Clint chuckled, but she could tell he was touched.  “Alright, Steve told me to make sure you’re okay, so that’s what I’m doing.  What we’re _all_ doing.  So I’m going to go help Tony break through some secret backdoors in SHIELD’s comm system–”

“I always knew there were some,” Tony muttered.  “You guys have been holding out on me.”

“–and then I’m going to come right back.  You want some ice?  Music?  Something to watch?”  She nodded.  Anything.  Everything to ease the pain and keep her mind off of what was happening and the fact that Steve wasn’t there.  Distractions were good.  Maybe distractions would slow this down.  “Okay.  Come on, Stark.”

“Don’t worry about anything,” Tony said as they walked out the door.  “I have this under control.  He’ll get here in time.”

Another contraction was coming.  Natasha wilted under it and hoped Tony was right.

* * *

The epidural was a _godsend._   Not only had it helped tremendously with the pain, but it had slowed her labor down.  Stalled it, even.  She supposed were her circumstances different, she would have been upset by that.  Now she was thrilled.

Because of the drugs, hours passed and things were calm and peaceful.  She was rather confined to the hospital bed at this point, but that was alright.  She had four Avengers waiting on her and tending to her every need.  After hooking Tony up with some “unofficial” means to access restricted areas of SHIELD’s computer and communications network, Clint returned with an entire season of _Top Chef_ and an iPad.  Thor hadn’t left her side, and he tirelessly held the iPad up for her so she could lay back and rest.  Bruce came and went, conferring with the nurses and doctors.  Though Natasha had an obstetrician handling her case, Bruce was pretty much in charge of her care; nothing was happening without his knowledge and consent.  That was familiar and comfortable.

In fact, everything was comfortable.  With the pain distant, numb, reduced to vague pressure that didn’t bother her, she could think again, and nothing seemed quite so distressing.  Yes, she was in labor, but it wasn’t so bad.  The contractions were only lines on a monitor now, twinges and the like, but nothing extreme or consuming like it had been.   And without the crushing hold of pain, the fear of childbirth wasn’t so pressing, either.  Distractions and distance and detachment.  She could handle this.

“Alright, everyone at SHIELD sucks,” Tony declared, irritated and blustery as he came into the private hospital room.  He pocketed his phone, to which he’d been completely attached the last few hours, working connections and using JARVIS (and who knew what else) to try and find Steve.  All his resources, most likely.  Not that Natasha was complaining.  This had become something of an unspoken mission among them, a new mission.  _Stop labor._   Again, the irony.  And, again, there was probably not anything they could do to control her labor now.  Not really.  This, like her going into labor in the first place, was just the way things were going.  Nature and all that.  For whatever reason, though, the epidural bringing things to a crawl seemed like a sign, like they _could_ hold this off until Steve got there.  Maybe the impossible wasn’t quite so impossible.

Maybe.

“No one is telling me shit,” Tony grumped, “so screw them.”  Natasha worried for a moment that maybe that meant he was giving up.  This was Tony, however.  “I’m taking things into my own hands.”

Natasha shook her head.  “What?”

“Sit tight,” Tony ordered.  He kissed Natasha’s head and pointed at her rounded belly.  “And you, little man Rogers, stay put.  Listen to me better than your old man does.”  Then he was gone without further explanation, leaving them all confused and wondering.

Clint sighed and started up the next episode.  “Probably best not to ask.”

The hours wore on.  Pretty soon the afternoon was gone and the evening was slipping away.  Nothing was happening.  Nothing was progressing.  Nothing, nothing, nothing.  The team of doctors had been by to check quite a few times, and she was still just six centimeters dilated, barely seven on the generous side.  Active labor had pretty much collapsed.  Even the number of contractions she was having had decreased.  Secretly she was relieved to hear her doctor say that.  No contractions meant no birth which meant they had _time_.  Everyone was silently relieved, worried and excited but happy that things were going the way they were.

Except her doctors.  “You might want to consider restarting labor,” the one said after the latest check.  Natasha grimaced.  Thor and Clint had been ushered from the room again so she could have some privacy.  Those poor guys had been in and out so many times.  “Your labor has been stalled for almost six hours, Mrs. Rogers.  I had hoped it would restart by now, but you may need a little push.”

She didn’t want a little push.  She wanted Steve.  “What do you mean?”

The doctor sighed.  “We’d give you some Pitocin.  That’ll get things going again.  With your membranes ruptured, the chances of infection are higher, so it might be advisable to get the baby born sooner rather than later.”

She didn’t want to hear that.  “But his heartrate and all of that is good?”

“Yes, he’s doing fine.”

“Then no.  I’m waiting for my husband.”

The doctor didn’t look pleased.  “I understand that, Mrs. Rogers.  But the number of unknowns involved here, particularly with the serum, make me hesitant to let this go on much longer.”

She’d read about this online (she was starting to realize she’d done _way_ too much reading online).  Labor stalling wasn’t all that uncommon.  Labor stalling with a ruptured amniotic sac wasn’t even an emergency, so long as the baby was doing well and there was adequate fluid.  “Look, do what you need to, stress tests or whatever you think is necessary.  I’d like to try to wait.  Let it start again on its own.”  _Buy Steve another few hours or however long we can._   The doctor frowned more.  “If there’s no threat to me and no threat to the baby, then I don’t see why I can’t.  Unknowns are still unknowns whether he’s in or out.”  It was the most logical argument she’d made in twenty-four hours.

For a moment, it seemed like the man would argue further, but he didn’t.  He simply nodded, smiling now.  “Alright, let’s let you go.  We’ll keep monitoring you and the baby closely.  Hopefully the contractions will pick up again on their own, but if not, we can reassess in a few hours.  How does that sound?”

“Great,” she agreed, smiling herself.  _A few hours._

So the others came back in, and they settled down for what Natasha hoped would be the long haul.  Clint was on the phone again, updating Laura and Pepper, trying to get more information on Steve’s location as well.  Thor had brought a load of “mediocre fare” from the hospital cafeteria, and the three of them – Clint, Bruce, and Thor – dug in with gusto.  Natasha was hungry and tired, but eating was off the table unfortunately, and she couldn’t begrudge them for enjoying the meal (and being loud and joking and relaxing a moment).  They’d all been nothing but sweet to her, so sweet and so loyal, and they were going to be wonderful uncles.

Another couple hours disappeared, and they were chatting their way through _The Hangover_ (situationally inappropriate but whatever), eating chips and laughing and keeping everything light and hopeful.  It was late now, well past nine o’clock, and visiting hours were over, but who was going to throw out the Avengers?  No one.  And her womb had been quiet.  James was still quiet, too, and the steady flutter of his vitals across the monitor was sweet solace.  This was fine.  The doctors weren’t bothering her.  In this private room with her friends around her, nothing could bother her.  With a smug smile, she quickly decided she could do this all night. 

But she’d had a terrible time figuring out everything else.  Why should _this_ be any different?

All the sudden there was a great deal of pressure.  _A lot of pressure._   She jolted awake from where she’d been dozing, sitting up as much as she could on her elbows.  The pressure was intense.  Like _intense_ intense.  “Whoa,” she moaned.  “Whoa, whoa.”

Clint immediately jumped to his feet and came to her side.  “What is it?”

“Hurts,” she moaned, breathless, and it didn’t hurt exactly, but she didn’t know how else to describe it.  Maybe the epidural was failing?  The nurses had come in a couple times to adjust it, and maybe that had caused it to stop working.  “Can you…”

Bruce was right there.  “Is it pressure?”  She bit her lower lip and nodded.  “Like you need to bear down?”  Now that she heard that, that was _exactly_ what it felt like.  Bruce seemed moderately panicked.  “Thor, get Doctor Hanley.”  The demigod was up, his chips and soda completely forgotten, and running out the room.  “Okay, Tash, listen.  Obviously your labor picked back up and it picked up fast.  Don’t push.”

_“Push?”_

“Don’t,” Bruce said, ignoring her panicked, shocked, _terrified_ squeal.  “It shouldn’t be so strong with the epidural, but if you feel it, ignore it.  It may be uncomfortable.  Breathe through it.”

And Clint was back, taking up her hand.  “Breathe, Nat.  Remember?  In through your nose and out through your–”

“Where’s Steve?” she cried.  Suddenly all her calm poise, all her confidence and hope, was gone, yanked out from under her, _dashed._   She had to push.  She was ready to push.  You didn’t need to research labor and delivery on the internet to know that was the end, the last stage, the last _step_ before the baby came.  Not the labor part.  The _delivery_ part.

She couldn’t do that without Steve.  “Where is he, Clint?  Where?”

“I’m gonna figure that out, okay?”  Clint’s eyes were panicky and he fumbled for his phone.  It was pointless, and they both knew it, because if Tony Stark with his infinite wealth and resources and gumption hadn’t been able to get a hold of Steve, there was no getting a hold of him.  _He’s going to miss this._ Natasha’s eyes burned with tears as Clint started frantically dialing.  _He’s going to miss James coming into the world.  He’s going to miss it!_   She couldn’t believe how much that hurt.  And she knew Clint was right; it wouldn’t mean loving James any less if Steve wasn’t there to hold him right after he was born.  But it felt huge, awful, _paramount._   She’d gladly be pregnant days, _weeks_ , longer, however much longer she needed to be, to make sure Steve could experience this.

But she couldn’t.  James finally wanted out.

The next thing she knew, there was a flurry of activity around her.  Clint and Thor were ushered out, both of them looking horrified and flustered and arguing that they should stay because her husband was gone and she needed support.  They were gone and she was too lost in herself to agree.  The doctors and nurses came in.  One of them checked her.  “Alright, Mrs. Rogers, you’re fully dilated.”

“I guess you go from zero to sixty pretty fast, huh?” another joked.  It wasn’t funny.

“We’re going to start pushing.  With the epidural, you may not feel the urge quite as strongly.”  She felt it.  She felt it _bad_.  “Try your best to push when you feel ready.”  They went over more, instructions and what have you, rearranging equipment and the bed all the while.  Natasha was only partially listening, which was probably completely irresponsible.  It was her job to bring James into the world now, and she needed to be focused, committed.  Yet she felt detached, disconnected, floating above it as if it wasn’t her body doing this and her baby about to be born.  She could only think about Steve and try not to cry.

Pretty soon they had her sitting up a bit, Bruce and one of the nurses helping her.  Her legs were spread wide and held there, all of her weight supported by the arms around her back.  And she was pushing.

And pushing.

And _pushing._

It was hard, hard work.  Every time she felt the urge, the muted edge of a contraction, she bore down hard.  She was bathed in sweat in short order, completely covered in it, and shaking in between the contractions when she breathed and rested.  People were constantly talking, but the voices and words were all mushy and indistinct.

“Come on, Tash.  You can do it.”

“Alright, ready?  Big push!”

“One…  Two…  Three…”

She pushed.  And pushed.  And kept at it and kept at it.  It started to feel like she wasn’t getting anywhere.  But that couldn’t be.  You pushed, and the baby came out.  That was how things were supposed to go.  The pressure between her legs was getting extremely uncomfortable, even with the numbness.  She put everything out of her mind, how awful this felt and how embarrassed and scared she was and how much she wanted Steve, and focused herself on getting this done.  _Mission.  Right._

Only this target was not cooperating about being extracted.

“Okay, let’s take a breather,” the doctor advised.  “Just stop for a minute.”

Gladly she did, sagging downward, the comforting haze of sleep muddling her senses.  She sank into the relief of that happily.  Somehow she’d not realized how tired she was, but now exhaustion was swarming her and pulling her down.  The doctor was talking.  “You’ve been at it almost an hour,” he said.  _An hour?_   It simultaneously felt like forever and no time at all.  She had no sense of what was going on outside her body.  He frowned compassionately.  “And we’re not seeing a whole lot of progress.  Can you feel the contractions at all?”

It was hard to answer.  Her tongue felt like a dry, useless lump in her mouth.  “A little.  Mostly it’s just pressure.”

“Let’s dial back the epidural a bit so you can feel them more.  That’ll help you push more effectively.”  It took a moment for the nurses to do that, and she could already feel the next contraction coming fast and hard.  “Alright, push when you’re ready.”

She did.  She sucked in a deep breath to center herself – _come on, you can do this!_ – and went back to it.  “Come on, Tash,” Bruce gently encouraged.  He held her leg tighter.  “You’ve got it.  You’re doing great.”  _Come on!_

Harder and longer she pushed.  It burned, throbbed, shook her entire body.  She could definitely feel the contractions more, and it hurt a great deal, but she couldn’t let that stop her.  She lost herself in it, in the waves slamming over her body.  _Come on, come on, come on…_

A little while later, they stopped her again.  James’ heartrate dipped, and the alarm shocked her from concentrating.  “It’s okay,” the doctor assured.  “He’s okay.”

“You’re having really ineffective labor,” another doctor said, the one who was down between her legs.  “It’s crazy.  He’s crowned.  I can see him there, and I can feel the contractions, but it’s like he doesn’t want to come out.”  The lady smiled.  “Stubborn little guy.”

Natasha screamed when the next contraction came over her.  Delirium was setting in hard, and she was tired.  So tired.  Everything hurt.  Her control was utterly shredded, and she just wanted this over.  Her arms and legs felt like noodles, limp and useless, and continuing seemed akin to torture.  She didn’t know if she could.  How long had it been?  “Going on two hours,” Bruce answered.  She hadn’t realized she’d asked that question out loud.  He was there with wet washcloths, mopping up her sweat and cooling her forehead.  “The baby’s not fully engaged in the birth canal.  It doesn’t seem like you’re getting anywhere.”

Her eyelids fluttered.  “Is that normal?” she slurred.

Bruce nodded, but he looked worried.  “It can happen.  But we’re getting to the point where we need to consider a C-section.  His heartrate is okay, but I don’t think we want to let this go on too much longer, especially since we’re not making too much progress.”

That was depressing and frustrating and more than a bit upsetting.  _None_ of this was right, not that Steve wasn’t there or that labor wasn’t going well or that she might need a Cesarean.  This wasn’t what she’d pictured, what she’d planned.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.  But this was what was happening, and she had no control.

“Here’s what I want to do, Mrs. Rogers,” the first doctor said.  Natasha forced her gummy eyes open and forced her sluggish brain to focus.  At this point, she felt weak and like she was seeing and hearing and feeling everything through a vacuum, stretched and distorted by light years.  “I want you to push for another thirty minutes.  Good, hard pushing.  After that, if we’re still not getting anywhere, we’ll do the C-section.”

“I don’t think I can,” she confessed, her throat thick with fatigue and emotion.

“You can.  Take a couple minutes to gather yourself, okay?  You can do this.  We’ve got multiple people watching the baby’s vitals.  If anything starts changing, we can have you in for an emergency Cesarean in minutes.  There’s nothing to worry about.”

 _Don’t worry._   Yeah, that was impossible.  She blinked tears free, licked the salt of sweat from her lips.  “Bruce, where’s Clint?”

Bruce’s expression was soft with compassion.  “You want me to get him?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.  One of the nurses was rubbing her arm, and the others were nicely trying to get her comfortable and reenergized.  It seemed to take a long time for Bruce to come back with Clint, but he did, and Clint smiled warmly.  He didn’t seem daunted, not with the position she was in or the mess.  Nothing about her had ever frightened him away.  He came to the side of the bed.  “You sure you want me in here?  Seems like it’s been a hell of a party so far, and I’m still no good with female problems.”

“You did promise to stand in,” she gasped, wincing as the contractions got stronger.  It was hard to talk, hard to focus and catch her breath.  “And to take care of me.”

Clint nodded, taking her left hand in his.  “That I did.”  He took Bruce’s spot, and Bruce went around to the other side.  Together they anchored Natasha’s legs.  “You can do this, Nat.  You’re almost there.”

“Ready, Mrs. Rogers?” the doctor asked as they took their positions again.  Even they looked exhausted.  _I can do this all night._ She bobbed her head, gritted her teeth, and drew in a deep breath through her nose.  “Okay, here we go.  Big push now.  Push, push, push–”

“Come on, Nat.  Keep going.”  Clint squeezed her hand.  “Keep going.  You can do it.”

“Okay, take a breath.  Great job.  Start again whenever you’re ready.”

“You’ve done so much in your life.  So much.  Never let it stop you, right?  Come on.”

“You’re almost there…  Almost there…”

Or not.  Thirty minutes came and went, a lifetime of hard work and sweat and suffering that somehow and incongruously passed in no time at all, and James was _still_ in his mother’s belly.

And Natasha had given up.  She was absolutely spent, not an ounce of energy or will left in her to keep fighting.  She felt like a failure.  She couldn’t deliver her son.  How in the world did that make sense?

She didn’t have time to wonder.  “Let’s do the C-section,” Bruce declared, and off they went.  Silent tears streamed down Natasha’s face as they reclined her bed and wheeled her through the hallways of the hospital.  Somehow lying flat made her feel even smaller and lower and more helpless.  They were moving quickly, not rushing with panic or anything but fast enough that she knew they were a little concerned.  She couldn’t focus on that.  Her mind was absolutely checking out.  She couldn’t handle this.  She couldn’t.  Not this.  And not alone.  “Everything’s fine, Tash.  You’re doing just fine.  He’s fine.  We’ll have him delivered in no time, okay?  You did great.”  Bruce’s voice was soft and comforting.

Clint was still firmly holding her hand, both his hands wrapped around it, as he rushed along right at her side.  “You did.  This is fine.  You know, you’ll have a heck of a story to hang over this kid’s head someday.”  She gasped a sob.  Clint grinned, his expression nothing but encouraging.  “You want me to come in with you?”  She nodded, hazy and hurting.  “Alright.  I can do that.”  They reached the operating room, a modified surgical suite specifically for the maternity floor, and pushed her through the doors.  Clint’s fingers slipped from hers, and she panicked, clambered for them, but Bruce had pulled him aside to get him into a sterile gown.

Everything felt overly warm and overly bright and harsh.  Not real.  They were moving her, getting her hooked up to machines, adjusting the epidural to be stronger.  A lot of people were there, nurses and doctors, and they were all talking.  Talking about what would happen.  Talking to her.  She couldn’t follow it.  She was trying so hard not to come apart completely, not to break, but it was a losing battle.  She couldn’t do this.  She closed her eyes tight and sobbed.  She didn’t want to be alone.  She couldn’t be alone!

Fingers slipped back into hers.  “Hey, love, don’t cry.”

_Steve._

Her heart leapt.  Her eyes popped open.  Sure enough, Steve was _there._   Right at her side, his familiar hand woven together with hers, caressing her mussed hair from her forehead.  She was so out of it, so overwhelmed and overcome, that for a long moment she wondered if she hadn’t completely succumbed to fantasy.  She was imagining it.  This was all too traumatic and her brain was manufacturing hallucinations or something to help her cope.

But, no, it was him.  _It was him._ She could see hints of his stealth uniform underneath the gown he was wearing, could imagine him running here because he was breathing heavily and flushed with exertion and frantic with panic in his eyes.  There was even perspiration gathered on his temples, and his hands were warm and sweaty.  He grinned, eyes wet at the sight of her dawning realization.  _How?  When?_ She couldn’t make her brain work or her mouth ask the questions, and it didn’t matter.  He was there.  This was real.

_He was there._

“I’m here.  I’m right here.  I made it.”  He laughed roughly, seemingly surprised himself.  “Next time don’t try to induce labor right before I need to leave.  Because what we did?  Definitely not an old wives’ tale.”

She gasped a giggle, a sob, reached for him, and he came closer, kissing her hard and desperate.  The smell of battle was all over him, sweat and gunpowder and ash, but she didn’t care, deepening the kiss until she couldn’t breathe.

He pulled away, cheeks glistening with tears, and cupped her face.  “Let’s have a baby, okay?”

“Okay,” she murmured, dazed and relieved and so, so happy.  Filled with excitement and joy.  She was ready.  She was _so_ ready.  “I love you.  I love you!”

He took up her hand and kissed her forehead.  “I love you, too.”

* * *

Approximately three minutes later, James Steven Rogers wailed his way into the world.  He was perfectly fine, perfectly healthy, _perfect_ in every way, and Steve and Natasha watched in awe and elation as the doctors held him up for them to see.  Things moved quickly as they cleaned him up and checked him over and took care of her and finished the procedure.  It was quick and amazing and unbelievable.  A dream, it seemed.  And in no time at all, they were putting the baby into Steve’s arms, wrapped in towels and a blanket, and he was lowering him so that his mother could see.

 _Beautiful._   And every bit his father’s son.  Light wisps of blond hair.  Blue eyes.  Steve’s nose and lips and chin.  A tiny body already so strong and full of life and vitality.  Natasha watched him squirm and settle down as Steve laid him gently on her chest, watched his eyes open and see them both for the first time.  Amidst tears and kisses, she fell in love all over again, just like she knew she would.

Not long after that, they were wheeling her into recovery.  The others came.  Apparently Tony and JARVIS had finally hacked into the Hub and stolen the location of Steve’s op in Iran.  Then it had been a quick flight via Iron Man (who was significantly speedier than anything else on the planet) to find the wayward father-to-be.  The fight had ended easily and cleanly, but SHIELD had gotten wind of other terrorist cells and dispatched the STRIKE Team immediately to take them out before they could act.  That explained why he’d been out of communication so long, because he’d been literally traversing the desert in trucks, taking out terrorist outposts as they came upon them.  Once Tony had located them, he’d told Steve what was happening, given Steve the armor, and JARVIS had flown him back in record time.  All said and done, it had taken less than an hour.  And Tony had patiently waited in the desert for Iron Man to come back and pick him up, so he looked tired and hot and sunburned.  Natasha could have kissed him.  She had, in fact, dragging him closer by his dress shirt and hugging him hard and pressing her lips emphatically to his cheek.  “Aw, shucks,” he said, blushing furiously (which was hard to see, given how red he was all over).  “You know me.  Gotta be a hero.”

“Well done, Tony,” Thor agreed, clasping Tony on the shoulder hard enough that he nearly toppled.  He beamed at the baby.  “Well done to us all!”

“Yeah, nothing is ever easy,” Bruce said, smiling and shaking his head ruefully.

Clint held James.  He, too, had fallen in love instantly.  They all had.  “Eh, things happen just the way they’re supposed to,” he said.  “One way or another.”  He winked at Natasha where she leaned against Steve, and she smiled wearily.  _Yes, they do._

They each took a turn holding him, all of them cooing and commenting on how strong and handsome James was with bright eyes and proud, huge smiles.  In a way, they’d all helped bring this baby into the world.  All of them.  She watched them, these eccentric, disparate men who were her family and friends, who were her brothers, and she’d never felt so at peace.  They left with promises to be back soon.  It was the middle of the night, and everyone was tired.  This was only the first day, after all.  There were many, so many, more to come.

And that never feeling so at peace?  That was nothing compared to what came next.  Nothing compared to the feeling of completion she had when she brought James to her breast.  Steve was right there, helping her, supporting her, easing her discomfort and whispering words of encouragement.  It was breath-taking, the three of them pressed close together on her hospital bed as James latched on and suckled.  It was nothing like she’d imagined but everything she’d ever wanted.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Steve murmured.  His lips ghosted over her bare shoulder.  “I’m so sorry, Nat.  I had a feeling you were right about things starting…  But I couldn’t get away.  Let me tell you, when I saw Iron Man in the desert out there…  I knew I was in trouble.”

She couldn’t fathom being angry or afraid ever again.  “You aren’t in trouble.”

“Would never have forgiven myself,” he whispered.

“It’s fine.”  She smiled, staring down at their son.  “It’s alright.  I was okay.”

“I know you were,” he said, “but that doesn’t make it better.”  He set a hand on James’ tiny head.  The baby’s eyes closed in utter happiness.  So simple and easy.  “He’s beautiful.”

He was.  Beautiful and precious and perfect and _theirs._   “Yeah,” she breathed.  “And I think…  I think he knew.”  She turned to look at Steve, grinning through new tears.  “I think he knew you weren’t here.  I think that’s why it happened like it did.  He was waiting for you.”

She could see the emotions work their way over him, surprise and understanding and then so much love.  He kissed her again, bringing his hand up to cup her jaw and hold her too him.  It felt so good, so right.  He was there, and James was there, and Clint was right.  One way or another, everything happened just the way it was supposed to happen.

Steve pulled away, pressing his forehead to hers, breathing with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes.  “Stubborn little guy,” he commented.  “Stubborn like his mother.”

“No.  He’s your son, so it makes sense.”

“ _Our_ son,” he corrected.

“Oh, no, when he’s like this?  Causing all this trouble?  _Your_ son.”

“Alright, fine.”  He kissed her again and held his family close.  “Mine.”

**THE END**


End file.
